
Class. 

Book J <c5jC 



/?9f 



DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE. 



315oofc0 ty spr& #ntta Jameson* 



THE CHARACTERISTICS OF WOMEN : Moral, Po- 
etical, and Historical. 

THE DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE. 

MEMOIRS OF THE LOVES OF THE POETS. Bio- 
graphical Sketches of Women celebrated in Ancient and Mod- 
em Poetry. 

STUDIES, STORIES, AND MEMOIRS. 

SKETCHES OF ART, LITERATURE, AND CHAR- 
ACTER. With a Steel Engraving of Raphael's Madonna del 
San Sisto. 

MEMOIRS OF THE EARLY ITALIAN PAINTERS 
(Cimabue to Bassano). 

LEGENDS OF THE MADONNA as represented in Ae 
Fine Arts. 

SACRED AND LEGENDARY ART. In two volumes. 

LEGENDS OF THE MONASTIC ORDERS as repre- 
sented in the Fine Arts. Forming the Second Series: J. Sacred 
and Legendary Art. 

Each volume, i6mo, $1.25 ; the ten volumes, in box, $12.50; half 
calf, #25.00; tree calf, $35-oo. 

WORKS ON ART. New Edition. Edited, and with a new 
Memoir of Mrs. Jameson, by Miss E. M. Hurll, recently of 
Wellesley College. With a large number of illustrations made 
especially for this edition. 5 vols. 8vo, gilt top. 

Sacred and Legendary Art. 2 volumes. 

Legends of the Monastic Orders. 

Legends of the Madonna. 

Memoirs of the Early Italian Painters. 
Per volume, $3.00; the set, 5 volumes, $15.00; half calf, gilt top, 
$25.00 ; half polished morocco, $25.00. 



HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., Publishers, 
Boston and New York. 



THE DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE 



BY 



MRS. JAMESON 



Sad, solemn, soure, and full of fancies fraile, 
She woxe ; yet wist she neither how nor why ; 
She wist not, silly Mayde, what she did aile ; 
Yet wist she was not well at ease perdie ; 
Yet thought it was not Love, but some Melancholia, 

Spenser. 



From the last London Edition 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

€i>e ftt&ergttie ^ress, <2CambrtUgc 



**:« 



4.* st 



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PKEFACE, 

*♦ With regard to a certain little Diary, of which 
it has been thought proper to give here a new edi- 
tion, — what shall I say ? If I have cheated some 
gentle readers out of much superfluous sympathy — ■ 
as it has been averred — it was certainly without 
design. 1 can but repeat here the excuse already 
inserted in another place, ' that the work in question 
was not written for publication, nor would ever have 
been printed but for accidental circumstances ; that 
the title under which it appeared was not given by 
the writer, but the publisher, who at the time knew 
nothing of the real author: and that some false 
dates, unimportant circumstances, and fictitious 
characters, were afterwards interpolated, to con- 
ceal, if possible, the real purport and origin of the 
work ; for the intention was not to create an illu- 
sion, by giving to fiction the appearance of truth ■ 
but, in fact, to conceal truth by throwing over it the 
veil of fiction.' I regret, that even this deceptioD 



n PKEFA.CE. 

was practised, but would plead in excuse that the 
basis of that little book was truth ; that it was, in 
reality, what it assumed to be, 'a true picture of 
natural and feminine feeling.' I confess, that to go 
over the pages again for the purpose of correction, 
and for the first time, since their publication, 
has been rather a painful task : once or twice I 
have felt inclined to make the amende honorable. 
They contain some opinions which I have seen rea- 
son to alter or modify ; they record some feelings 
which I would rather have forgotten ; and Italy has 
eince undergone some social and political changes * 
but the observations on art and natural scenery re- 
main as applicable now as they were ten years ago ; 
and I found I could make no alterations, no correc- 
tions, which would not detract from the sole merit 
the book could ever have possessed, and which, I 
presume,, it still retains, — its truth as a picture of 

mind/' 

A. J. 

£F*rom " Visits and Sketches, at Home and Abroad.". 



CONTENTS. 

Calais; Biddy Fudge; Necessity of writing a Diary; Diary 
of a Blue Devil; Rouen; Joan of Arc; Paris; Comio 
Scenes in the Champs Elisees; Anecdote; Edmonde; 
Story of Genevieve; Illness of the Writer; Le Solitaire; 
Paris from the Pont des Arts ; Contrast of English and 
French Manners; Remarks on Paris Page 17 — 30 

First Impression of Mountain Scenery; the Jura; the 
Italian Alps; Geneva; Anecdotes of Josephine and of 
Marie Louise ; Mad. de Stael and M. Rocca ; Panorama 
of Lausanne; Departure from Geneva; La Meillerie 
Vevai; Scenery between Geneva and the Simplon; 
Village of Davedro; Sorrowful Reflections; Anecdote 
of Rousseau and the Heloise; Milan; Shrine of St. 
Carlo Borromeo; Scenes and Anecdotes; Venus and 
Hercules transformed into Saints; the Brera; Marriage 
of the Virgin ; Remarks on the Hagar 30 — 46 

Dpera and Madame Bellocchi; Vigano the celebrated 
Ballet Master; his Didone Abbandonata ; Exceptionable 
Scene introduced; its Effects; Vigano's Prometteo; 
Medal struck in Lis Honor; Remarks on Dancing; on 
the Scala Theatre; Anecdotes of Count Bubna; the 
Archduke Reignier; the Mint; Medal presented to 
Belzoni; Milanese Airs, Stanzas for Music; Brescia 



¥111 CONTENTS 

and Mr. L. ; a Compound Goose; a Specimen of a New 
Genius of Fools; Sirmione and Catullus; Adelaide of 
Burgundy - 46 — 58 

ferona; Funeral of a Noble; the Amphitheatre; Romeo 
and Juliet; Novel of Louis Da Porta; Palladio; his 
Olympic Theatre; Padua; Venice at Sunset; Venice 
at Night; Assumption of Titian ; Canova's Designs for 
the Monument of Titian ; the Ganymede of Praxiteles ; 
Splendor of the Churches at Venice; the Manfrini 
Palace; Picture alluded to by Lord Byron; the Bar- 
berigo Palace; Titian's last Picture; Excursion to the 
Island of St. Lazaro with the British Consul; the 
Padre Pasquale; Theatres; Characteristic Anecdote, 
Comical Tragedy; Mrs. H., wife of the British Consul; 
Lord Byron; Characteristic Marginal Notes, written 
by Lord Byron in D'Israeli's Essays on the Literary 
Character 58 — 72 

Public Gardens at Venice; an Eccentric Traveller; Re- 
marks on Venice as a Residence ; Rise and Decline of 
its Commerce; Society; Jealousy of the Austrian 
Police; Silk Mills; Disagreeable and painful Impres- 
sions of Bologna; Tasso and the Hospital of St. Anna, 
at Ferrara; Present State of that City; Covigliajo in 
the Apennines ; Contrast between the Scenery of the 
Alps and the Apennines ; Horrible Assassinations at the 
Inn of Covigliajo ; Fate of the Murderers ; Scene in an 
Italian Inn .72—88 

Florence; Influence of the Scenery; Gallery; Venus de- 
Medicis; the Casina,- Moonlight at Florence; the Niobe, 
Mr. Cockerell; the Dying Alexander; the Mercury of 
John of Bologna; Melancholy Thoughts ; Samuel Rogers 
and the Venus de' Medicis; Carlo Dolce's La Poesia 



CONTENTS. IX 

painted from one of his Daughters ; Effect of Sorrow on 
the Heart and Mind ; Mournful Keflections ; Description 
of the Grand Duke and his Family; the Prince of 
Carignano; Love; Music; and Devotion; Magnelli the 
Singer 84—96 

Church of San Lorenzo; Michel Angelo; his severe and 
overpowering Style; his Holy Family contrasted with 
those of Raflfaelle and Correggio ; his Virgin, a Washer- 
woman; Chapel of the Medici; Tomb of Lorenzo; 
Pictures of Laura and Petrarch; Galileo's Finger; 
Pietra Dura; Palazzo Mozzi; Benvenuto's Picture of 
the Night after the Battle of Jena; School of the Fine 
Arts; Remarks on the Present Taste in Sculpture and 
Painting in Italy; Gallery; Salle des Portraits; Dutch 
and Flemish Pictures; the Daughter of Herodias; the 
ghastly Medusa of Leonardo da Vinci ; Contrast between 
the Mistress of Raffaelle and the Mistress of Titian, 
the Farnarina; the Flora; Titian's Venus; Pitti Pal- 
ace 96—103 

Gardens of the Villa Strozzi; Opera at the Cocomero; 
Raphael Morghen; Florence from the Campanile; Co- 
rinne a fashionable Vade Mecum ; a Scene in the Church 
of the San Spirito; the Virgin in a Blue Silk Gown; an 
Ave Maria in Italian; an Evening in the Church of 
Santa Croce; Extraordinary Picture by Cigoli; two 
Characters contrasted ; Anecdote ; Fam us Blunder of 

Lord G ; Countess of Albany ; Alfieri ; Remarks on 

his Tragedies; Tragedy of Mirra, a Favourite on the 
Stage; would not be endured in England; the Venus of 
Canova compared to the Venus de' Medicis ; the Grand 
Duke's Madonna; Remarks on Florence; Costume of 
\he People; Classical Style of Swearing; a Shoemaker's 
Oath 104— 11« 



X CONTENTS. 

Tourney to Rome, Arezzo; Perugia; Lake of Thrasy- 
mene; Singular Effect of Mist ; Ridiculous Contretemps; 
Trevi; the Clitumnus; Spoleto; a Bull-Baiting; Falls 
of Terni; Impossibility of painting a Cataract; Villa 
of Queen Caroline; Costume of the Peasantry; Rome; 
Melancholy Impressions of the first Day at Rome; 
St. Peter's; Museum of the Vatican; its Grandeur and 
intoxicating Effect on the Imagination; Sacrilegious 
Vanity of the French; Frescos of Raffaelle; the Col- 
iseum by Moonlight ; Remark made on the Laocoon by 
Rogers; the Perseus of Canova, compared to the 
Apollo; View from the Belvedere 116 — 134 

llie Capitol; the Dying Gladiator, supposed to represent 
a Gaul; the Disputes of the Antiquarians on this 
Statue; Opinion of Nibby; Paul Veronese; Strictures 
on his Style; Domenichino's Cumean Sibyl; Remarks 
on Guido; on Guercino; the Sibyl of the Borghese 
Palace, not a Sibyl; the Chase of Diana; Sacred and 
Profane Love; the Lope's Chapel; Cardinal Fesche; 
Cardinal Gonsalvi; Lady Morgan; her Sketches after 
Life admirable; her "Italy;" the Barberini Palace; 
Story of the Cenci; her Portrait; Family Resemblance; 
Indecent Behaviour of the English at St. Peter's ; Con- 
sequences; the Duchess of Devonshire 134 — 142 

The Festivities and Processions on Christmas Eve ; Ex- 
hibition of the Divine Cradle at Santa Maria Maggiore; 
Scene in the Church; Characteristic Absurdities; the 
Doria Palace; Bad Condition of the Pictures in the 
Doria Gallery; Joanna of Naples; the Nozze Aldo- 
brandini ; the Gallery at the Sciarra Palace ; Guido's 
Magdalen ; Remarks on various Pictures ; Scarcity of 
Claude's Works at Rome ; the Church of San Pietro in 
Vincoli; Michel Angelo's Moses; Remarks on that 



CONTENTS. Xi 

Statue ; the Poet Zappi ; his Wife the Daughter of Cailo 
Maratti ; her Beauty and Talents ; a Sonnet by Zappi 
and Translation 143 — 150 

Extraordinary Scene at the Ara Celi ; Exposition of the 
Bambino; Trajan's Forum; the Ulpian Library; Re- 
flections suggested by the Commencement of the New 
Year; Remarks on the Protestant Cemetery; Beauty 
and Interest of its Situation; Description of some of 
the Tombs; the Quarter of the Jews; the Lateran; an 
Account of some of the extraordinary Relics exhibited 
in this Church; Remarks on the Era of Constantino 
and his Character; the Scala Santa; the Houses of 
Claude Lorraine, Nicolo Poussin, and Salvator Rosa, on 
the Monte della Trinita; English Chapel; St. Peter's; 
L.'s Absurdities; Reply to a Complaint; Reply to a 
Reproach 150 — 162 

English Weather at Rome ; Anecdotes of a Roman Laquais 
de Place; Madame de Genlis's " Souvenirs de Felicie;" 
Baths of Titus; Arabesque Paintings; Discovery of 
the Laocoon; the Fetters of St. Peter; the Church of 
San Martino del Monte ; Body of Cardinal Tomasi in a 
glass Case ; the Vatican ; Remarks on the Transfigura- 
tion of RafFaelle, and the Communion of St. Jerome of 
Domenichino ; these two Master-pieces compared ; curi- 
ous Anecdote relative to the latter 162 — 169 

Ascent to the Ball of St. Peter's; Church of St. Onofrio; 
Tomb of Tasso; the Poet Guidi; Excursion through 
the most interesting Part of Old Rome ; Reflections on 
the Mystery in which the whole is involved; Charac- 
teristic Scenes; a Serenade; a 'young Artist in the 
Coliseum; Passage in which Commodus was assas- 
ainated; Dedication of the Amphitheatre; the Tomb 



Kii CONTENTS. 

of Cecilia Metella ; Kemarks on the Fountain of Egeria 
Disputes of the Antiquarians ; the Tomb of the Scipios 
Characteristic Anecdote; Splendid Ceremony at St. 
Peter's; Person and Character of Pope Pius VII., 
Manufactory of Roman Pearl; a second Excursion 
through Ancient Rome, with Remarks ; Gigantic Meas- 
urements of the Temple of Venus and Rome. Via 
Sacra 169—186 

Signor P and his Daughter; Anecdote, Trait of Char- 
acter related of a Danish Baron; the Spada Pompey; 
Canova's Studio; Remarks on his Style; Remarks on 
Thorwaldsen's Style; Rodolph Schadow's Filatrice crit- 
icized; Death of Schadow; Studio of Max Laboureur; 
Villa Albani; Rogers; Capture of an Austrian Officer 
by the Banditti ; his Treatment ; his Rescue ; Baths of 
Dioclesian ; Fountain of the Acqua Felice ; Church of 
the Gesuiti; Singular Relics there 186—195 

Journey to Naples ; the Power of beautiful Scenery en- 
hanced by Association; Ridicule of fashionable Non- 
chalance; Terracina; Pontine Marshes; Mola di Gaeti; 
Scene near Cicero's Formian Villa; Lines on Mola di 
Gaeta; Naples; the Carnival; Singular Masks; Theatre 
of San Carlo, why inferior to the Scala; Ballet of 
Niobe and her Children ; Grotesque Amusements of the 
Carnival; Extraordinary Scenes; the Bay of Naples; 
the Song of the Syren Parthenope 195 — 212 

Eruption of Mount Vesuvius; Excursion up the Moun- 
tain during the Height of the Eruption; Imminent 
danger incurred by the Writer, who is saved by Salva- 
dor, the Guide; Dangerous Descent of the Mountain; 
the Eruption ceases on the sixth Day; Climate of 
Naples ; its Effects on the moral and physical Tempera 



CONTENTS. Xlll 

ment; English Comforts contrasted with Italian Skies- 
Character of a young Englishman of Fashion remark- 
able for his Beauty of Person and dissipated Habits ; Ex- 
cursion to Pompeii ; the young Lazzarone ; Remarks on 
the Antiquities at Pompeii; a Pic-nic Dinner; Imagin- 
ary Party of Pleasure to Pompeii 212 — 234 

Recount of the Blind Man of Cento, remarkable for his 

Memory; Anecdote of Signor B ; his intended 

Tragedy on the Subject of the " Sicilian Vespers; " his 
characteristic Speech; the Lago d'Agnano; the Grotto 
del Cane; the disagreeable Old Woman; Remarks on 
some of the Neapolitan Churches ; singular Instance of 
Profaneness and Superstition; two remarkable Statues 
in the Church of San Severo ; Remarks on the Museum 
of Naples ; Pictures ; the St. John of Leonardo da Vinci; 
the Carita of Schidone; Parmegiano's Gouverante; 
Domenichino, &c; the Gallery of Sculpture; the 
Statue of Aristides; Contrast between ancient and 
modern Sculpture ; between the sitting Agrippina and 
Canova's Statue of Madame Letitia ; the Flora Farnese; 
Statue of Nero ; a dying Gladiator, expression of mortal 
Agony; Antiquities brought from Herculaneum and 
Pompeii; la Toilette de Madame de Pompadour; Ex- 
cellence attained by the Ancients in the Arts which em- 
bellish Life 234—244 

The Quarterly and Edinburgh Reviews compared to the 
two Giants in Pulci; Circulating Library at Naples; 
Catalogue of prohibited Books ; general Appearance of 
Naples ; the People ; Influence of the Climate ; Excla- 
mation of an Italian ; Last Evening at Naples ; Villetri , 
Feelings on leaving Naples; Mola di Gaeta; Circean 
Promontory; Contrast between Italian and English 
Landscape Scenery; Itri and Fondi; Costume of the 
Peasantry at Mola; Banditti near Fondi 244 — 253 



XIV CONTENTS. 

Beturn to Home ; Contrast between Rome and Naples 
Villas in the Neighbourhood of Rome; Pope's Gardens 
on the Monte Cavallo; Pamfili Gardens; the Princess 
Pauline ; Style of Italian Gardens ; English Landscape 
Gardening; Capability Brown; Gardens of Versailles; 
Burial-place of the Pompeys ; San Gregorio ; Deep In- 
terest attached to Rome ; Wagenal's Studio ; the iEgina 
Marbles, their Restoration by Thorwaldsen ; Gibson, the 
English Sculptor; Pozzi, the Florentine Statuary; In- 
stance of his affected Taste ; Gibson's Psyche ; Anecdote 
of Canova 253—262 

Dinner al fresco in the Pamfili Gardens ; View from the 
Villa Pamfili; Lines written in the Gardens; Com- 
mencement of the Holy Week; the Pope's Chapel; 
Ceremonies; the Vatican; St. Peter's; Santa Maria 
della Pace; Raffaelle's Four Sibyls; the Villa Lanti; 
Naples and Rome, Distinction between their Beauty; 
Remarks on Petrarch; Guido's Aurora; Triumph of 
David, by Domenichino ; Guido's Andromeda; Twelve 
Apostles, by Rubens; Five Senses, by Carlo Cignani; 
Death of Samson, by L. Carracci; Portrait of Nicolo 
Poussin; the Miserere; its solemn Effect in the Sistine 
Chapel; Good Friday; Ceremonies at the Vatican; 
Splendor of its Galleries; Camera dei Papiri; Sala 
della Croce ; Second Miserere ; Characteristic Anecdote ; 
St. Peter's; Illumination of the Girandola; Sestini the 
Improwisatore ; Sgricci: Corilla the Improvvisatrice ; 
La Fantastica; Subjects of Sestini's Improwisazione ; 
Description of Sestini; his Death; High Mass at St. 
Peter's; Pilgrims at the Shrine of St. Peter; Exposition 
of the Relics; Illumination of St. Peter's; Splendid 
Fireworks 262—29! 

Return to Florence; Viterbo; Different Sensations on 



CONTENTS. XV 

quitting Rome and Naples ; Radicofani ; Lake of Bolsena 
and Montepulciano ; Florence; Mr. Rogers; Contrast 
between the general Appearance of the Tuscan States 
and the States of the Church ; Amusing Instance of the 
gossiping Curiosity of the Florentines ; an Italian Sum- 
mer; on the Style of particular Painters; what is meant 
by the Manner of a Painter ; Remarks on the different 
Manners in which the same Subject has been treated 
by different Painters, exemplified in the Virgin and 
Holy Family ; Remarks on the Virgins of Raffaelle, of 
Correggio, of Guido, of Titian, of Murillo, of Carlo 
Dolce, of Carlo Maratti, of Caravaggio, of Rubens, of 
Vandyke, of Michel Angelo, of Carlo Cignani; his 
Madonna del Rosario ; the Madonnas of Sasso Ferrato 

292—313 

Anecdote of an English Lady ; th> Opera, Signora Bassi 
Primo Uomo at the Pergola ; Execrable Dancing ; Rossini, 
Character of his Music ; his Influence on the Taste of 
the Age ; Anecdote from Dr Holland ; Rossini compared 
to Marini ; Lucca, Remarks on its Decay ; Richness of the 
country between Florence and Lucca; Style of Agri- 
culture; Italian Plough; Cathedral of Lucca; Palace; 
Pisa, its Look of elegant Tranquillity; the Duomo; the 
Baptistry and Leaning Tower; the fabulist Pignotti; 
University of Pisa; Botanic Garden; a stupendous 
Magnolia; General Appearance of Leghorn; a Visit to 
*he Jewish Synagogue ; Women caged up like Monkeys ; 
English Burial-ground; Tomb of Smollett 313—321 

On the Meaning of the Picturesque ; England the Country 
where the Picturesque least prevails, and why; the Pic- 
turesque of England and the Picturesque of Italy con- 
trasted; the Spirit of the Ancient Mythology still prev- 
alent in Italy; Claude's Sunsets; the Grosvenof 



VI CONTENTS. 

Claudes; Apology for the Enthusiasm of Travellers; 
Sarzana; Fire-flies; Adventure at Lerici; Fantastic 
Apparition; the Lament at Nina; a Calm on the 
Mediterranean; Sestri; Genoa compared to a noble 
Matron; Personification of the other great Cities of 
Italy; Coup-d'ceil of Genoa; Strada Nuova; Beauty 
no Rarity at Genoa; the Mazzara, its Effect on Female 
Beauty; Farewell to Italy; Turin; Influence of the 
Conversation of Men of the World and Men of Gallantry 
on the Female Mind; the Life of a Coquette; St. 
Michael; Lyons; Sorrowful Recollections of Italy; In- 
creasing Illness and Death of the Writer; Conclusion 



DIARY 



AN ENNUYEE • 



Calais, Jane 21. 

What young lady, travelling for the first time 
on the continent, does not write a " Diary ? " No 
sooner have we stept on the shores of France — no 
sooner are we seated in the gay salon at Dessin's, 
than we call, like Biddy Fudge, for " French pens 
and French ink," and forth steps from its case the 
morocco-bound diary, regularly ruled and paged, 
with its patent Bramah lock and key, wherein we 
are to record and preserve all the striking, pro- 
found, and original observations — the classical rem- 
iniscences — the thread-bare raptures — the poetical 
effusions — in short, all the never-sufficiently-to- 
be-exhausted topics of sentiment and enthusiasm, 
which must necessarily suggest themselves white 
posting from Paris to Naples. 

Verbiage, emptiness, and affectation ! 

* First published in 1826. 
2 i 



18 DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE. 

Yes— but what must I do, then, with my volume 
in green morocco ? 

Very true, I did not think of that. 

We have all read the Diary of an Invalid, 
the best of all diaries since old Evelyn's. — 

Well, then, — Here beginneth the Diary of a 
Blue Devil. 

What inconsistent beings are we ! — How strange 
that, in such a moment as this, I can jest in mock- 
ery of myself ! but I will write on. Some keep a 
diary, because it is the fashion — a reason why 1 
should not ; some because it is blue, but I am not 
blue, only a blue devil ; some for their amusement, 
— amusement ! I alas ! alas ! — and some that they 
may remember, and I that I may forget. O 
would it were possible ! 

When, to-day, for the first time in my life, I 
saw the shores of England fade away in the dis- 
tance — did the conviction that I should never be- 
hold them more, bring with it one additional pang 
of regret, or one consoling thought ? — neither the 
one nor the other. I leave behind me the scenes, 
the objects, so long associated with pain ; but 
from pain itself I cannot fly: it has become a 
part of myself. I know not yet whether I ought 
to rejoice and be thankful for this opportunity of 
travelling, while my mind is thus torn and upset 
or rather regret that I must visit scenes of inter- 
est, of splendor, of novelty — scenes over which, 
years ago, I used to ponder with many a sigh, and 



DIARY OF AN ENNUYE«. 19 

many a vain longing, now that I am lost to all the 
pleasure they could once have excited : for what 
is all the world to me now ? But I will not weakly 
yield : though time and I have not been long ac- 
quainted, do I not know what miracles he, " the 
all-powerful healer," can perform ? Who knows 
but this dark cloud may pass away ? Continual 
motion, continual activity, continual novelty, the 
absolute necessity for self-command, may do some- 
thing for me. I cannot quite forget ; but if I can 
cease to remember for a few minutes, or even, it 
may be, for a few hours I O how idle to talk of 
" indulging grief : " talk of indulging the rack, the 
rheumatism! who ever indulged grief that truly 
felt it ? to endure is hard enough. 

It is o'er! with its pains and its pleasnje? 

The dream of affection is o'er ! 
The feelings I lavish' d so fondly 

Will never return to me more. 

With a faith, ! too blindly believing — 
A truth, no unkindness could move ; 

My prodigal heart hath expended 
At once, an existence of love. 

And now, like the spendthrift forsaken, 
By those whom his bounty had blest, 

Ail empty, and cold, and despairing, 
It shrinks in my desolate breast. 

But a spirit is burning within me, 
Unquench'd, and unquenchable yet; 

It shall teach me to bear uncomplaining, 
The grief I can never forget. 



20 ST. GERM A INS. 

Rouen, June 25. — I do not pity Joan of Arc 
that heroic woman only paid the price which all 
must pay for celebrity in some shape or other : 
the sword or the fagot, the scaffold or the field, 
public hatred or private heart-break ; what mat- 
ter? The noble Bedford could not rise above 
the age in which he lived : but that was the age 
of gallantry and chivalry, as well as superstition : 
and could Charles, the lover of Agnes Sorel, with 
all the knights and nobles of France, look on while 
their champion, and a woman, was devoted to 
chains and death, without one effort to save her ? 

It has often been said that her fate disgraced the 
military fame of the English ; it is a far fouler blot 
on the chivalry of France. 

"3f& 3£ 3£ 3Jr 9fP 

St. Germains, June 27. — I cannot bear this place, 
another hour in it will kill me ; this sultry evening 
— this sickening sunshine — this quiet, unbroken, 
boundless landscape — these motionless woods — the 
Seine stealing, creeping through the level plains — 
the dull grandeur of the old chateau — the languid 
repose of the whole scene — instead of soothing, 
torture me. I am left without resource, a prey to 
myself and to my memory — to reflection, which 
embitters the source of suffering, and thought, 
which brings distraction. Horses on to Paris I 
Vite ! Vite ! 

Paris, 28. — What said the witty Frenchwoman ? 
—Paris est le lieu du monde oil I'onpeut Je mieux se 



PARIS. 21 

passer de bonheur , -in that case it will suit me ad 
mirabiy. 

29. — We walked and drove about all day : I was 
amused. I marvel at my own versatility when 1 
think how soon my quick spirits were excited by 
this gay, gaudy, noisy, idle place. The different 
appearance of the streets of London and Paris is 
the first thing to strike a stranger. In the gayest 
and most crowded streets of London the people 
move steadily and rapidly along, with a grave col- 
lected air, as if all had some business in view ; ?iere f 
as a little girl observed the other day, all the peo- 
ple walk about " like ladies and gentlemen going a 
visiting : " the women well dressed and smiling, and 
with a certain jaunty air, trip along with their pe- 
culiar mincing step, and appear as if their sole 
object was but to show themselves ; the men ill- 
dressed, slovenly, and in general ill-looking, lounge 
indolently, and stare as if they had no other pur- 
pose in life but to look about them.* 

July 12. — " Quel est a Paris le supreme talent ? 
celui d'amuser : et quel est le supreme bonheur ? 
l'amusement." 

Then le supreme bonheur may be found every 
evening from nine to ten, in a walk along the Bou- 
levards, or a ramble through the Champs Elyseea, 
and from ten to twelve in a salon at Tortoni's. 

What an extraordinary scene was that I wit* 

* It must not be forgotten that this was written ten years ago 
the aspect of Paris is much changed since then. 



22 CHAMPS ELY8EES. 

nessed to-night ! how truly French ! Spite of my« 
self and all my melancholy musings, and all my 
philosophic allowances for the difference of national 
character, I was irresistibly compelled to smile at 
some of the farcical groups we encountered. In 
the most crowded parts of the Champs Elysees this 
evening, (Sunday,) there sat an old lady with a 
wrinkled yellow face and sharp features, dressed 
in flounced gown of dirty white muslin, a pink sash 
and a Leghorn hat and feathers. In one hand she 
held a small tray for the contribution of amateurs, 
and in the other an Italian bravura, which she sung 
or rather screamed out with a thousand indescriba- 
ble shruggings, contortions, and grimaces, and in a 
voice to which a cracked tea-kettle, or a " brazen 
2andlestick turned," had seemed the music of the 
spheres. A little farther on we found two elderly 
gentlemen playing at see-saw ; one an immense 
corpulent man of fifteen stone at least, the other a 
thin dwarfish animal with grey mustachios, who 
held before him what I thought was a child, but on 
approaching, it proved to be a large stone strapped 
before him, to render his weight a counterpoise to 
that of his huge companion. We passed on, and 
returning about half an hour afterwards down the 
game walk, we found the same venerable pair pur- 
suing their edifying amusement with as much en- 
thusiasm as before. 

***** 

Before the revolution, sacrilege became one 0/ 



23 



the most frequent crimes. I was told of a man 
who, having stolen from a church the silver box 
containing the consecrated wafers, returned the 
wafers next day in a letter to the Cure of the 
parish, having used one of them to seal his envelope 
* * * * 

July 27. — A conversation with S** always 
eaves me sad. Can it then be possible that he is 
right ? No — O no ! my understanding rejects the 
idea with indignation, my whole heart recoils from 
it ; yet if it should be so ! what then : have I 
been till now the dupe and the victim of factitious 
feelings ? virtue, honour, feeling, generosity, you 
are then but words, signifying nothing? Yet if 
this vain philosophy lead to happiness, would not 
S** be happy ? it is evident he is not. When he 
said that the object existed not in this world which 
could lead him twenty yards out of his way, did 
this sound like happiness? I remember that 
while he spoke, instead of feeling either persuaded 
or convinced by his captivating eloquence, I was 
perplexed and distressed; I suffered a painful 
compassion, and tears were in my eyes. I, who 
so often have pitied myself, pitied him at that mo- 
ment a thousand times more ; I thought, I would 
not buy tranquillity at such a price as he has paid 
for it. Yet, if he should be right ? that if 
which every now and then suggests itself, is ter- 
rible ; it shakes me in the utmost recesses of my 
beart. 



24 PARIS. 

S**, in spite of myself, and in spite of aii that, 
With most perverted pains, he has made himself, 
(so different from what he once was,) can charm 
and interest, pain and perplex me : — not so D** 
another disciple of the same school : he inspires 
trie with the strongest antipathy I ever felt for a 
human being. Insignificant and disagreeable in 
his appearance, he looks as if all the bile under 
heaven had found its way into his complexion, 
and all the infernal irony of a Mephistopheles into 
his turned-up nose and insolent curled lip. He 
is, he says he is, an atheist, a materialist, a sen- 
sualist : the pains he takes to deprave and degrade 
his nature, render him so disgusting, that I could 
not evea speak in his presence ; I dreaded lest he 
should enter into conversation with me. I might 
have spared myself the fear. He piques himself 
on his utter contempt for, and disregard of, women ; 
and, after all, is not himself worthy these words I 
bestow on him. 

* * * * 

Aug. 25. — Here begins, I hope, a new era. I 
have had a long and dangerous illness ; the crisis 
perhaps of what I have been suffering for month*. 
Contrary to my own wishes, and to the expecta- 
tions of others, I live: and trusting in God that 
I have been preserved for some wise and good 
purpose, am therefore thankful : even supposing 
* should be reserved for new trials, I cannot 
wrely in this world suffer more than I have su£ 



PARIS. 25 

fered : it is not possible that the same causes can 
be again combined to afflict me. 

How truly can I say, few and evil have my 
days been ! may I not say as truly, I have not 
weakly yielded, I have not " gone about to cause 
my heart to despair," but have striven, and not in 
vain ? I took the remedies they gave me, and was 
grateful ; I resigned myself to live, when, had I 
but willed it, I might have died ; and when to die 
and be at rest, seemed to my sick heart the only 
covetable boon. 

Sept. 3. — A terrible anniversary at Paris — still 
ill and very weak. Edmonde came, "pour me 
desennuyer." He has soul enough to bear a good 
deal of wearing down ; but whether the fine quali- 
ties he possesses will turn to good or evil, is hard 
to tell : it is evident his character has not yet set- 
tled : it vibrates still as nature inclines him to 
good, and all the circumstances around him to 
evil. We talked as usual of women, of gallantry, 
of the French and English character, of national 
prejudices, of Shakspeare and Racine, (never fail- 
ing subjects of discussion,) and he read aloud 
Delille's Catacombs de Rome, with great feeling, 
animation, and dramatic effect. 

La mode at Paris is a spell of wondrous power : 
it is most like what we should call in England a 
rage, a mania, a torrent sweeping down the bounds 
between good and evil, sense and nonsense, upon 
WnDse surface straws and egg-shells float into noto- 



86 



riety, while the gold and the marble are buried 
and hidden till its force be spent. The rage for 
cashmeres and little dogs has lately given way to 
a rage for Le Solitaire, a romance written, I be- 
lieve, by a certain Vicomte d'Arlincourt. Le So- 
litaire rules the imagination, the taste, the dress 
of half Paris : if you go to the theatre, it is to see 
the " Solitaire," either as tragedy, opera, or inelo- 
drame ; the men dress their hair and throw their 
cloaks about them, a la Solitaire ; bonnets and 
caps, flounces and ribbons, are all a la Solitaire ; 
the print shops are full of scenes from Le Soli- 
taire ; it is one very toilette, one very work-table ; 
— ladies carry it about in their reticules to show 
each other that they are a la mode ; and the men 
— what can they do but humble their understand- 
ings and be extasies, when beautiful eyes sparkle 
in its defence and glisten in its praise, and ruby 
lips pronounce it divine, delicious, " quelle sub- 
limite dans les descriptions, quelle force dans les 
caracteres ! quelle &me ! feu ! chaleur I verve 
originalite ! passion ! " &c. 

" Vous n'avez pas lu le Solitaire ? " said Ma- 
dame M. yesterday. " Eh mon dieu ! il est done 
possible ! vous ? mais, ma chere, vous etes perdue 
de reputation, et pour jamais ! " 

To retrieve my lost reputation, I sat down to 
read Le Solitaire, and as I read my amazement 
grew, and I did in " gaping wonderment abound," 
to think that fashion, like the insane root of old 



PARIS. 27 

had power to drive a whole city mad with non- 
sense ; for such a tissue of abominable absurdities, 
bombast and blasphemy, bad taste and bad lan- 
guage, was never surely indited by any madman, 
in or out of Bedlam : not Maturin himself, that 
king of fustian, 



ever wrote or borrowed 



Any thing half so horrid ! " 

and this is the book which has turned the brains 
of half Paris, which has gone through fifteen 
editions in a few weeks, which not to admire is 
" pitoyable" and not to have read " quelque chose 
d'inouie." 

The objects at Paris which have most struck 
me, have been those least vaunted. 

The view of the city from the Pont des Arts, 
to-night, enchanted me. As everybody who goes 
to Rome views the Coliseum by moonlight, so 
nobody should leave Paris without seeing the 
effect from the Pont des Arts, on a fine moon- 
light night : — 

"Earth hath not any thing to show more fair." 

It is singular I should have felt its influence at 
such a moment : it appears to me that those who, 
from feeling too strongly, have learnt to consider 
too deeply, become less sensible to the works of 
art, and more alive to nature. Are there not 
when we turn with indifference from the 



finest picture or statue — the most improving book 
— the most amusing poem ; and when the verj 
commonest, and every-day beauties of nature, a 
soft evening, a lovely landscape, the moon riding 
in her glory through a clouded sky, without 
forcing or asking attention, sink into our hearts ? 
They do not console, — they sometimes add poig- 
nancy to pain ; but still they have a power, and 
do not speak in vain : they become a part of us ; 
and never are we so inclined to claim kindred with 
nature, as when sorrow has lent us her mournful 
experience. At the time I felt this (and how many 
have felt it as deeply, and expressed it better !) I 
did not think it, still less could I have said it; 
but I have pleasure in recording the past impres- 
sion. " On rend mieux compte de ce qu'on a 
senti que de ce qu'on sent." 

* * * * 

September 8. — Paris is crowded with English ; 
and I do not wonder at it; it is, on the whole, 
a pleasant place to live in. I like Paris, though I 
shall quit it without regret as soon as I have 
strength to travel. Here the social arts are 
2arried to perfection — above all, the art of con- 
versation : every one talks much and talks well. 
In this multiplicity of words it must happen of 
course that a certain quantum of ideas is inter 
mixed : and somehow or oth^r, by dint of listen- 
ing, talking, and looking about them, people do 
fearn, and information to a certain point is general 



PARIS. 29 

Those who have knowledge are not shy of im- 
parting it, and those who are ignorant take care 
not to seem so ; but are sometimes agreeable, often 
amusing, and seldom betes. Nowhere have I seen 
unformed sheepish boys, nowhere the surliness, 
awkwardness, ungraciousness, and uneasy proud 
bashfulness, I have seen in the best companies in 
England. Our French friend Lucien has, at fif- 
teen, the air and conversation of a finished gentle- 
man ; and our English friend C is at eighteen, 

the veriest log of a lumpish schoolboy that ever 
entered a room. What I have seen of society, I 
like : the delicious climate too, the rich skies, the 
clear elastic atmosphere, the out of doors life the 
people lead, are all (in summer at least) delight- 
ful. There may be less comfort here ; but nobody 
feels the want of it ; and there is certainly more 
amusement — and amusement is here truly " le 
supreme bonheur." Happiness, according to the 
French meaning of the word, lies more on the sur- 
face of life : it is a sort of happiness which is 
cheap and ever at hand. This is the place to live 
in for 1he merry poor man, or the melancholy rich 
one : for those who have too much money, and 
those who have too little ; for those who only wish, 
like the Irishman, " to live all the days of their 
life," — prendre en Ug&re monnoie la somme des plai- 
sirs : but to the thinking, the feeling, the domestic 
man, who only exists, enjoys, suffers through his 
affections — 



30 GENEVA. 

" Who is retired as noontide dew, 
Or fountain in a noonday grove — " 

Bo such a one, Paris must be nothing better than a 
vast frippery shop, an ever-varying galantee-show, 
an eternal vanity fair, a vortex of folly, a pan- 
demonium of vice. 

September 18. — Our imperials are packed, our 
passports signed, and we set off to-morrow for 
Geneva by Dijon and the Jura. I leave nothing 
behind me to regret, I see nothing before me to 
fear, and have no hope but in change : and now 
all that remains to be said of Paris, and all its 
wonders and all its vanities, all its glories and all 
its gayeties, are they not recorded in the ponderous 
chronicles of most veracious tourists — and what 
can I add thereto ? 

* * * * 

Geneva, Saturday Night, 11 o'clock. 

Can it be the " blue rushing of the arrowy 
Rhone" I hear from my window ? Shall I hear it 
to-morrow, when I wake ? Have I seen, have I 
felt the reality of what I have so often imagined ? 
and much, much more V How little do I feel the 
contretemps and privations which affect others — 
and feel them only because they affect others 
To me they are nothing : I have in a few hours 
stored my mind with images of beauty and gran- 
deur which will last through my whole existence. 

* * * * 

3Tet I know I am not singular ; others have fell 



GENEVA. 81 

the same : others, who, capable of " chinking in 
the soul of things," have viewed nature less with 
their eyes than their hearts. Now I feel the value 
of my own enthusiasm ; now am I repaid in part 
for many pains and sorrows and errors it has cost 
me. Though the natural expression of that en- 
thusiasm be now repressed and restrained, and 
my spirits subdued by long illness, what but en- 
thusiasm could elevate my mind to a level with 
the sublime objects round me, and excite me to 
pour out my whole heart in admiration as I do 
now ! How deeply they have penetrated into my 
imagination ! — Beautiful nature ! If I could but 
infuse into you a portion of my own existence, aa 
you have become a part of mine — if I could but 
bid you reflect back my soul, as it reflects back 
all your magnificence, I would make you my only 
friend, and wish no other ; content " to love earth 
only for its earthly sake." 

I am so tired to-night, I can say nothing of the 
Jura, nor of the superb ascent of the mountain, to 
me so novel, so astonishing a scene ; nor of the 
cheerful brilliance of the morning sun, illuminating 
the high cliffs, and throwing the deep woody valleys 
into the darkest shadow ; nor of the far distant 
plains of France seen between the hills, and melt- 
ing away into a soft vapory light ; nor of Morey, 
and its delicious strawberries and honey-comb ; nor 
of that never-to-be-forgotten moment, when turn- 
ing the corner of the road, as it wound round a 



82 GENEVA. 

cliff near the summit, we beheld the lake and citj 
of Geneva spread at our feet, with its magnificent 
background of the Italian Alps, peak beyond 
peak, snow-crowned ! and Mont Blanc towering 
over all ! No description had prepared me for this 
prospect ; and the first impression was rapturous 
surprise : but by degrees the vastness and the huge 
gigantic features of the scene, pressed like a weight 
upon " my amazed sprite," and the feeling of its 
immense extent fatigued my imagination, till my 
spirits gave way in tears. Then came remem- 
brances of those I ought to forget, blending with 
all I saw a deeper power — raising up emotions, 
long buried though not dead, to fright me with 
their resurrection. I was so glad to arrive here, 
and shall be so glad to sleep —even the dull sleep 
which laudanum brings me. 

Oct. 1. — When next I submit (having the power 
to avoid it) to be crammed into a carriage, and 
carried from place to place, whether I would or 
not, and be set down at the stated points de vue, 
while a detestable laquais points out what I am to 
admire, I shall deserve to endure again what I 
endured to-day. As there was no possibility of 
relief, I resigned myself to my fate, and was even 
amused by the absurdity of my own situation. 
We went to see the junction of the Arve and the 
Rhone : or rather to see the Arve pollute the rich, 
blue, transparent Rhone, with its turbid waters. 
The day was heavy, and the clouds rolled in pro* 



S3 



digious masses along the dark sides of the moun- 
tains, frequently hiding them from our view, and 
substituting for their graceful outlines and ever- 
varying contrast of tint and shade, an impenetrable 
veil of dark grey vapor. 

3d. — We took a boat and rowed on the lake 
for about two hours. Our boatman, a fine hand- 
some athletic figure, was very talkative and in- 
telligent. He had been in the service of Lord 
Byron, and was with him in that storm between 
La Meillerie and St. Gingough, which is described 
in the third canto of Childe Harold. He pointed 
out, among the beautiful villas, which adorn the 
banks on either side, that in which the empress 
Josephine had resided for six months, not long 
before her death. When he spoke of her, he 
rested upon his oars to descant upon her virtues, 
her generosity, her affability, her goodness to the 
poor, and his countenance became quite animated 
with enthusiasm. Here, in France, wherever the 
name of Josephine is mentioned, there seems to 
exist but one feeling, one opinion of her benefi- 
cence and amabilite of character. Our boatman 
had also rowed Marie Louise across the lake, on 
her way to Paris : he gave us no very captivating 
picture of her. He described her as " grande, 
blonde, Men faite, et extrhnement fibre ;" and told us 
how she tormented her ladies m waiting ; " comme 
tile tracassait ses dames d'honneur" The day 
being rainy and gloomy, her attendants begged of 



54 



her to defer the passage for a shoit time, till the 
fogs had cleared away, and discovered all the 
beauty of the surrounding shores. She replied 
haughtily and angrily, " Je veux faire ce que je 
veux — allez toujours." 

M. le Baron M n, whom we knew at Paris, 

told me several delightful anecdotes of Josephine : 
he was attached to her household, and high in her 
confidence. Napoleon sent him on the very morning 
of his second nuptials, with a message and billet to 
the ex-empress. On hearing that the ceremony 
was performed which had passed her sceptre into 
the hands of the proud, cold-hearted Austrian, the 
feelings of the woman overcame every other. 
She burst into tears, and wringing her hands, ex- 
claimed " Ah ! au moins, qu'il soit heureux ! " 
Napoleon resigned this estimable and amiable 
creature to narrow views of selfish policy, and 
with her his good genius fled : he deserved it, and 
verily he hath had his reward. 

We drove after dinner to Copet ; and the Duch- 
ess de Broglie being absent, had an opportunity of 
seeing the chateau. All things " were there of 
her " — of her, whose genuine worth excused, whose 
all-commanding talents threw into shade those fail- 
ings which belonged to the weakness of her sex, 
and her warm feelings and imagination. The ser^ 
vant girl who showed us the apartments had been 
fifteen years in Madame de StaeTs service. All 
the servants had remained long in the family, " elle 



COPET. 86 

6tait si bonne et si c harmante maitresse ! " A pic- 
ture of Madame de Stael when young, gave me the 
idea of a fine countenance and figure, though the 
features were irregular. In the bust, the expres- 
eion is not so prepossessing: — there the colour and 
brilliance of her splendid dark eyes, the finest 
feature of her face, are of course quite lost. The 
bust of M. Rocca* was standing in the Baron de 
Stael's dressing-room : I was more struck with it 
than any thing I saw, not only as a chef d'ceuvre, 
but from the perfect and regular beauty of the 
head, and the charm of the expression. It was just 
such a mouth as we might suppose to have uttered 
his well-known reply — " Je Vaimerai tellement, 
qvHelle finira par m 'aimer." Madame de Stael had 
a son by this marriage, who had just been brought 
home by his brother, the Baron, from a school in 
the neighbourhood. He is about seven years old. 
If we may believe the servant, Madame de Stael 
did not acknowledge this son till just before her 
death ; and she described the wonder of the boy 
on being brought home to the chateau, and desired 
to call Monsieur le Baron " Mon frere " and 
"Auguste." This part of Madame de Stael's con- 
duct seems incomprehensible ; but her death ia 
recent, the circumstances little known, and it ia 
difficult to judge her motives. As a woman, as a 
wife, she might not have been able to brave " the 
world's dread laugh " — but as a mother ? 

* By Christian Fnederich m ieck 



86 PANORAMA OF LAUSANNE. 

We have also seen Ferney — a place which did 
not interest me much, for I have no sympathies 
with Voltaire : — and some other beautiful scenes in 
the neighbourhood. 

The Panorama exhibited in London just before 
1 left it, is wonderfully correct, with one pardonable 
exception : the artist did not venture to make the 
waters of the lake of the intense ultra-marine 
tinged with violet as I now see them before me ; 

" So darkly, deeply, beautifully blue; " 
it would have shocked English eyes as an exagger. 
ation, or rather impossibility. 

THE PANORAMA OF LAUSANNE. 

Now blest forever be that heaven-sprung art 

Which can transport us in its magic power 

From all the turmoil of the busy crowd, 

From the gay haunts where pleasure is ador'd, 

'Mid the hot sick'ning glare of pomp and light; 

And fashion worshipp'd by a gaudy throng 

Of heartless idlers — from the jarring world 

And all its passions, follies, cares, and crimes — 

And bids us' gaze, even in the city's heart, 

On such a scene as this ! fairest spot ! 

If but the pictured semblance, the dead image 

Of thy majestic beauty, hath a power 

To wake such deep delight; if that blue lake, 

Over -whose lifeless breast no breezes play, 

Those mimic mountains robed in purple light, 

Yon painted verdure that but seems to glow, 

ThDse forms unbreathing, and those motionless wooi», 



JOURNEY TO MILAN. 31 

A beauteous mockery all — can ravish thus, 

What would it be, could we now gaze indeed 

Upon thy living landscape ? could we breathe 

Thy mountain air, and listen to thy waves, 

As they run rippling past our feet, and see 

That lake lit up by dancing sixnbeams — and 

Those light leaves quivering in the summer air, 

Or linger some sweet eve just on this spot 

Where now we seem to stand, and watch the stars 

Flash into splendor, one by one, as night 

Steals over yon snow-peaks, and twilight fades 

Behind the steeps of Jura ! here, here I 

'Mid scenes where Genius, Worth, and Wisdom dwelt,* 

Which fancy peopled with a glowing train 

Of most divine creations — Here to stray 

With one most cherished, and in loving eyes 

Read a sweet comment on the wonders round — 

Would this indeed be bliss? would not the soul 

Be lost in its own depth ? and the full heart 

Languish with sense of beauty unexprest, 

And faint beneath its own excess of life ? 



Saturday. — Quitted Geneva, and slept at St 
Maurice. I was ill during the last few days of our 
stay, and therefore left Geneva with the less regret 
I suffer now so constantly, that a day tolerably free 
from pain seems a blessing for which I can scarce 
be sufficient!) thankful. Such was yesterday. 

Our road lay along the south bank of the lake, 



1 u Rousseau, Voltaire, our Gibbon, and De Stael, 
those names are worthy of thy shore." 

Losd Btbos. 



88 JOURNEY TO MILAN. 

through Evian, Thonon, St. Gingough : and on the 
opposite shores we had in view successively, Lau- 
sanne, Vevai, Clarens, and Chillon. A rain storm 
pursued, or almost surrounded us the whole morn- 
ing ; but we had the good fortune to escape it 
We travelled faster than it could pursue, and it 
seemed to retire before us as we approached. The 
effect was surprisingly beautiful ; for while the twc 
extremities of the lake were discolored and envel- 
oped in gloom, that part opposite to us was as blue 
and transparent as heaven itself, and almost as 
bright. Over Vevai, as we viewed it from La 
Meillerie, rested one end of a glorious rainbow : 
the other extremity appeared to touch the bosom 
of the lake, and shone vividly against the dark 
mountains above Chillon. La Meillerie — Vevai i 
what magic in those names ! and O what a power 
has genius to hallow with its lovely creations, 
scenes already so lavishly adorned by Nature ! it 
was not, however, of St. Preux I thought, as I 
passed under the rock of the Meillerie. Ah ! how 
much of happiness, of enjoyment, have I lost, in 
being forced to struggle against my feelings, instead 
of abandoning myself to them ! but surely I have 
done right. Let me repeat it again and again to 
myself, and let that thought, if possible, strengthen 
and console me. 

Monday- — I have resolved to attempt no descrip- 
tion of scenery ; but my pen is fascinated. I must 
note a few of the objects which struck me to-day 



JOUHNEY TO MILAN. 89 

unci yesterday, that I may at will combine them 
nereafter to my mind's eye, and recall the glorious 
pictures I beheld, as we travelled through the 
Vallais to Brig : the swollen and turbid, (no longer 
" blue and arrowy ") Rhone, rushing and roaring 
along ; the gigantic mountains in all their endless 
variety of fantastic forms, which enclosed us round, 
— their summits now robed in curling clouds, and 
then, as the winds swept them aside, glittering in 
the sunshine ; the little villages perched like eagles' 
nests on the cliff's, far, far above our heads ; the 
deep rocky channels through which the torrents 
had madly broken a way, tearing through every 
obstacle till they reached the Rhone, and marking 
their course with devastation ; the scene of direful 
ruin at Martigny ; the cataracts gushing, bounding 
from the living rock and plunging into some unseen 
abyss below ; even the shrubs and the fruit-trees 
which in the wider parts of the valley bordered 
the road side ; the vines, the rich scarlet barberries; 
the apples and pears which we might have gathered 
by extending our hands; — all and each, when I 
recall them, will rise up a vivid picture before my 
own fancy ; — but never could be truly represented 
to the mind of another — at least through the me- 
dium of words. 

And yet, with all its wonders and beauties, this 
da^ J s journey has not enchanted me like Satur- 
day is. The scenery then had a different species ot 
■*eauty, a deeper interest — when the daik blue sky 



*0 JOURNEY TO MIL AX. 

was above our heads, and the transparent lake 
Bhone another heaven at our feet, and the recollec- 
tion of great and glorious names, and visions of 
poetic fancy, and ideal forms more lovely than 
ever trod this earth, hovered around us: — and 
then those thoughts which would intrude — remem- 
brances of the far-off absent, who are or have been 
loved, mingled with the whole, and shed an imag- 
inary splendor or a tender interest, over scenes 
which required no extraneous powers to enhance 
their native loveliness, — no charm borrowed from 
imagination to embellish the all-beautiful reality. 

Duomo a" Ossola. — What shall I say of the mar- 
vellous, the miraculous Simplon ? Nothing : every 
body has said already, every thing that can be said 
and exclaimed. 

In our descent, as the valley widened, and the 
stern terrific features of the scene assumed a gen- 
tler character, we came to the beautiful village of 
Davedro, with its cottages and vineyards spread 
over a green slope, between the mountains and the 
torrent below. This lovely nook struck me the 
more from its contrast with the region of snows, 
clouds, and barren rocks, to which our eyes had 
been for several hours accustomed. In such a spot 
as Davedro I fancied I should wish to live, could I 
in life assemble round me all that my craving heart 
and boundless spirit desire ; — or die, when life had 
exhausted all excitement, and the subdued and 
weary soul had learned to be content with repose 
—but not till then. 



JOUKNEY TO MILAN. 41 

We are now in Italy ; but have not j et heard the 
wft sounds of the Italian language. However, we 
read with great satisfaction the Italian denomination 
of our Inn, " La grande Alberga della Villa" — 
called out " Cameriere !" instead of " Garcon !"-— 
plucked ripe grapes as they hung from the treillages 
above our heads — gathered green figs from the 
trees, bursting and luscious — panted with the in- 
tense heat — intense and overpowering from its 
contrast with the cold of the Alpine regions we had 
just left — and fancied we began to feel 



-cette vie ennivrante, 



Que le soleil du sud inspire a tous les sens. 



1 1 at night. — Fatigue and excitement have lately- 
proved too much for me : but I will not sink. I 
will yet bear up ; and when a day thus passed amid 
scenes like those of romance, amid all that would 
once have charmed my imagination, and enchanted 
my senses, brings no real pleasure, but is ended, as 
now it ends, in tears, in bitterness of heart, in lan- 
guor, in sickress, and in pain — ah ! let me remem- 
ber the lesson of resignation I have lately learned 
and by elevating my thoughts to a better world, 
turn to look upon the miserable affections which 
Vave agitated me here as * 

* The sentence which follows is so blotted as to b* 
illegible. — Ed. 



42 JOURNEY TO MILAN. 

Could I but become as insensible, as regardless 
of the painful past as I am of the all lovely pres- 
ent! Why was I proud of my victory over pas- 
sion ? alas ! what avails it that I have shaken the 
viper from my hand, if I have no miraculous anti- 
dote against the venom which has mingled with my 
life-blood, and clogged the pulses of my heart ! But 
the antidote of Paul — even faith — may it not be 
mine if I duly seek it ? 



Arona on the Banks of the Lago Maggiore. 

Rousseau mentions somewhere, that it was once 
his intention to place the scene of the Helo'ise in 
the Borromean Islands. What a French idea! 
How strangely incongruous had the pastoral sim- 
plicity of his lovers appeared in such a scene ! It 
must have changed, if not the whole plan, at least 
the whole coloring of the tale. Imagine la divine 
Julie tripping up and down the artificial terraces 
of the Isola Bella, among flower pots and statues, 
and colonnades and grottos ; and St. Preux sigh- 
ing towards her, from some trim fantastic wilder- 
ness in the Isola Madre ! 

The day was heavenly, and I shall never forget 
the sunset, as we viewed it reflected in the lake, 
which appeared at one morr.ent an expanse of liv- 
sng fire. This is the first we have seen of those 
effulgent sunsets with which Italy will make ui 
familiar. 



MILAN. 43 

Milan. — Our journey yesterday, through the flat 
, ertile plains of Lombardy, was not very interest- 
ing ; and the want of novelty and excitement made 
it fatiguing, in spite of the matchless roads and the 
celerity with which we travelled. 

Whatever we may think of Napoleon in Eng- 
land, it is impossible to travel on the continent, and 
more particularly through Lombardy, without being 
struck with the magnificence and vastness of his 
public works — either designed or executed. He is 
more regretted here than in France ; or rather he 
has not been so soon banished from men's minds. 
In Italy he followed the rational policy of de- 
pressing the nobles, and providing occupation and 
amusement for the lower classes. I spoke to-day 
with an intelligent artisan, who pointed out to us a 
hall built near the public walk by Napoleon, for the 
people to dance and assemble in, when the weather 
was unfavorable. The man concluded some very 
animated and sensible remarks on the late events, 
by adding expressively, that though many had been 
benefited by the change, there was to him and all 
others of his class as much difference between the 
late reign and the present, as between Vor et le fer. 

The silver shrine of St. Carlo Borromeo, with 
all its dazzling waste of magnificence, struck me 
With a feeling of melancholy and indignation. The 
gems and gold which lend such a horrible splen- 
dor to corruption ; the skeleton head, grinning 
ghastly under its invaluable coronet; the skeleton 



£4 milajst. 

hand supporting a crozier glittering with diamonds, 
appeared so frightful, so senseless a mockery of the 
excellent, simple-minded, and benevolent being 
they were intended to honor, that I could but 
wonder, and escape from the sight as quickly as 
possible. The Duomo is on the whole more re- 
markable for the splendor of the material, than 
the good taste with which it is employed : the 
statues which adorn it inside and out, are sufficient 
of themselves to form a very respectable congre- 
gation : they are four thousand in number. 

2th. Tuesday. — We gave the morning to the 
churches and the evening to the Ambrosian library. 
The day was, on the whole, more fatiguing than 
edifying or amusing. I remarked whatever was re- 
markable, admired all that is usually admired, but 
brought away few impressions of novelty or pleas- 
ure. The objects which principally struck my ca- 
pricious and fastidious fancy, were precisely those 
which passed unnoticed by every one else : and are 
not worth recording. In the first church we vis- 
ited, I saw a young girl respectably, and even ele 
gantly dressed, in the beautiful costume of the Mi 
lanese, who was kneeling on the pavement before 
a crucifix, weeping bitterly, and at the same time 
fanning herself most vehemently with a large green 
fan. Another church, (St. Alessandro, I think,) 
was oddly decorated for a Christian temple. A 
itatue of Venus stood on one side of the porch, a 
statue of Hercules on the other. The two divini- 



MILAN. 45 

ties, whose attributes could not be mistaken, had 
been converted from heathenism into two very re- 
sectable saints. I forget their Christian names 
Nor is this the most amusing metamorphosis I have 
seen here. The transformation of two heathen di- 
vinities into saints, is matched by the apotheosis of 
two modern sovereigns into pagan deities. On the 
frieze of the salle, adjoining the Amphitheatre, 
there is a head of Napoleon, which, by the addition 
of a beard, has been converted into a Jupiter ; and 
on the opposite side, a head of Josephine, which, 
being already beautiful and dignified, has required 
no alteration, except in name, to become a credit- 
able Minerva. 

10th. — At the Brera y now called the " Palace of 
the Arts and Sciences," we spent some delightful 
hours. There is a numerous collection of pictures 
by Titian, Guido, Albano, Schidone, the three 
Carraccis, Tintorretto, Giorgione, &c. Some old 
paintings in fresco by Luini and others of his age, 
were especially pointed out to us, which had been 
cut from the walls of churches now destroyed. 
They are preserved here, I presume, as curiosi- 
ties, and specimens of the progress of the arts, for 
they possess no other merit — none, at least, that I 
could discover. Here is the " Marriage of the 
Virgin," by Raffaelle, of which I had often heard. 
It disappointed me at the first glance, but charmed 
me at the second, and enchanted me at the third. 
The unobtrusive grace and simplicity of Raffaelle 



16 MILAN. 

do not immediately strike an eye so unpractised, 
and a taste so unformed as mine still is ; for 
though I have seen the best pictures in England, 
we have there no opportunity of becoming ac- 
quainted with the two divinest masters of the 
Italian art, Raffaelle and Correggio. There are 
not, I conceive, half a dozen of either in all the 
collections together, and those we do possess, are 
far from being among their best efforts. But 
Kaffaelle must not make me forget the Hagar in 
the Brera : the affecting — the inimitable Hagar 
what agony, what upbraiding, what love, what 
helpless desolation of heart in that countenance ! 
I may well remember the deep pathos of this pic- 
ture ; for the face of Hagar has haunted me sleep- 
ing and waking ever since I beheld it. Marvel- 
lous power of art ! that mere inanimate forms., 
and colors compounded of gross materials, should 
thus live — thus speak — thus stand a soul-felt pres- 
ence before us, and from the senseless board or 
canvas, breathe into our hearts a feeling, beyond 
what the most impassioned eloquence could ever 
inspire — beyond what mere words can ever render. 

Last night and the preceding we spent at the 
Scala. The opera was stupid, and Madame Be? • 
locchi, who is the present prima donna, appeared 
to me harsh and ungraceful, when compared tc 
Fodor. The new ballet, however, amply indent 
'jified us for the disappointment. 

Our Italian friends condoled with us on being 



41 



I few days too late to see La Vestale, which had 
been performed for sixty nights, and is one of 
Vigano's masterpieces. I thought the Bidone 
Abbandonata left us nothing to regret. The im- 
mense size of the stage, the splendid scenery, the 
classical propriety and magnificence of the dresses, 
the fine music, and the exquisite acting, (for there 
is very little dancing,) all conspired to render it 
enchanting. The celebrated cavern scene, in the 
fourth book of Yirgil, is rather too closely copied 
in a most inimitable pas de deux ; so closely, in- 
deed, that I was considerably alarmed pitur les 
bienseances : but little Ascanius, who is asleep in 
a corner, (Heaven knows how he came there,) 
wakes at the critical moment, and the impending 
catastrophe is averted. Such a scene, however 
beautiful, would not, I think, be endured on the 
English stage. I observed that when it began, 
the curtains in front of the boxes were withdrawn, 
the whole audience, who seemed to be expecting 
it, was hushed ; the deepest silence, the most de- 
lighted attention prevailed during its performance ; 
and the moment it was over, a third of the specta- 
tors departed. I am told this is always the case 
and that in almost every ballet d'action, the public 
are gratified by a scene, or scenes, of a similar ten- 
dency. 

The second time I saw the Bidone, my atten- 
tion, in spite of the fascination of the scene, waa 
attracted towards a box near us, which was occu- 



48 



pied by a noble English family just arrived at 
Milan. In the front of the box sat a beautiful 
girl, apparently not fifteen, with laughing lips and 
dimpled cheeks, the very personification of bloom- 
ing, innocent, English loveliness. I watched her 
(I could not help it, when my interest was once 
awakened,) through the whole scene. I marked 
her increased agitation : I saw her cheeks flush, 
her eyes glisten, her bosom flutter, as if with sighs 
I could not overhear, till at length overpowered 
with emotion, she turned away her head, and 
covered her eyes with her hand. Mothers ! — 
English mothers ! who bring your daughters 
abroad to finish their education — do ye well to ex- 
pose them to scenes like these, and/orce the young 
bud of early feeling in such a precious hot-bed as 

this ? Can a finer finger on the piano, — a finer 

taste in painting, or any possible improvement in 
foreign arts, and foreign graces, compensate for 
one taint on that moral purity, which has ever 
been (and may it ever be !) the boast, the charm 
of Englishwomen ? But what have I to do with 
all this ? — I came here to be amused and to forget : 
— not to moralize, or to criticize. 

Yigano, who is lately dead, composed the 
Didone Abbandonata, as well as La Vestale, 
Otello, Nina, and others. All his ballets are cel- 
ebrated for their classical beauty and interest. 
This man, though but a dancing-master, must 
have had the soul of a painter, a musician, and a 



MILAN. 49 

poet in one. He must have been a perfect master 
of design, grouping, contrast, picturesque, and 
ecenic effect. He must have had the most exquis- 
ite feeling for musical expression, to adapt it so 
admirably to his purposes ; and those gestures 
and movements with which he has so gracefully 
combined it, and which address themselves but too 
powerfully to the senses and the imagination — 
what are they, but the very " poetry of motion," 
la poesie mise en action, rendering words a super- 
fluous and feeble medium in comparison ? 

I saw at the mint yesterday the medal struck 
in honor of Vigano, bearing his head on one side, 
and on the other, Prometheus chained ; to com- 
memorate his famous ballet of that name. One of 
these medals, struck in gold, was presented to him 
in the name of the government : — a singular dis- 
tinction for a dancing-master ; — but Vigano was a 
dancing-master of genius : and this is the land 
where genius in every shape is deified. 

The enchanting music of the Prometteo by 
Beethoven, is well known in England, but to pro- 
duce the ballet on our stage, as it was exhibited 
here, would be impossible. The entire tribe of 
our dancers and figurantes, with their jumping*), 
twirlings, quiverings, and pirouettings, must be 
first annihilated ; and Vigano, or Didelot, or No- 
verre rise again to inform the whole corps de ballet 
with another soul and the whole audience with 
another spirit : — for 
4 



50 MILAN. 

— ' Poiche paga il volgo sciocco, e* giusto 
Scioccamente ' hollar ' per dargli gusto." 

The Theatre of the Scala, notwithstanding tne 
vastness of my expectations, did not disappoint 
me. I heard it criticized as being dark and 
gloomy ; for only the stage is illuminated : but 
when I remember how often I have left our 
English theatres with dazzled eyes and aching 
head, — distracted by the multiplicity of objects 
and faces, and " blasted with excess of light," — I 
feel reconciled to this peculiarity ; more especially 
as it heightens beyond measure the splendor of 
the stage effect. 

We have the Countess Bubna's box while we 
are here. She scarcely ever goes herself, being 
obliged to hold a sort of military drawing-room 
almost every evening. Her husband, General 
Bubna, has the command of the Austrian forces 
in the north of Italy : and though the Archduke 
Reinier is nominal viceroy, all real power seems 
lodged in Bubna's hands. He it was who sup- 
pressed the insurrection in Piedmont during the 
last struggle for liberty : 'twas his vocation — 
more the pity. Eight hundred of the Milanese, at 
the head of them Count Melzi, were connected 
with the Carbonari and the Piedmontese insur- 
gents. On Count Bubna's return from his expe- 
dition, a list of these malcontents being sent te 
nim by the police, he refused even to look at it 



MILAN. 51 

and merely saying that it was the business of the 
police to surveiller those persons, but he must be 
allowed to be ignorant of their names, publicly 
tore the paper. The same night he visited the 
theatre, accompanied by Count Melzi, was re- 
ceived with acclamations, and has since been de- 
servedly popular. 

Bubna is a heavy gross-looking man, a victim to 
the gout, and with nothing martial or captivating 
in his exterior. He has talents, however, and 
those not only of a military cast. He was gener- 
ally employed to arrange the affairs of the Emperor 
of Austria with Napoleon. His loyalty to his own 
sovereign, and the soldier-like frankness and integ- 
rity of his character, gained him the esteem of the 
French emperor; who, when any difficulties oc- 
curred in their arrangements, used to say impa- 
tiently — " Envoyez-moi done Bubna ! " 

The count is of an illustrious family of Alsace, 
which removed to Bohemia when that province 
was ceded to France. He had nearly ruined him- 
self by gambling, when the emperor (so it is said) 
advised him, or, in other words, commanded him 
to marry the daughter of one Arnvelt or Arnfeldt, 
a baptized Jew, who had been servant to a Jewish 
banker at Vienna ; and on his death left a million 
of florins to each of his daughters. He was a 
man of the lowest extraction, and without any 
education ; but having sense enough to feel its ad- 
rantages, he gave a most brilliant one to his 



52 MILAN. 

daughters. The Countess Babna is an elegant, 
an accomplished, and has the character of being 
also an amiable woman. She is here a person of 
the very first consequence, the wife of the arch- 
duke alone taking precedence of her. Apropos of 
the viceroy, when on the Corso to-day with the 
Countess Bubna, we met him with the vice-queen, 
as she is styled here, walking in public. The 
archduke has not (as the countess observed) la 
plus jolie tournure du monde ; his appearance is 
heavy, awkward, and slovenly, with more than the 
usual Austrian stupidity of countenance : a com- 
plete testa tedesca. His beautiful wife, the Prin- 
cess Maria of Savoy, to whom he has been married 
only a few months, held his arm ; and as she 
moved a little in front, seemed to drag him after 
her like a mere appendage to her state. I gazed 
after them, amused by the contrast : he looking 
like a dull, stiff, old bachelor, the very figure of 
Moody in the Country Girl ; — she, an elegant, 
sprightly, captivating creature ; decision in her 
Btep, laughter on her lips, and pride, intelligence, 
and mischief in her brilliant eyes. 

***** 

We visited yesterday the military college found- 
ed by the viceroy, Eugene Beauharnoss, for the 
children of soldiers who had fallen in battle. The 
original design is now altered ; and it has become 
a mere public school, to which any boys may be 
admitted, paying a certain sum a year. We went 



MILAN. 5S 

»ver the whole building, and afterwards saw the 
scholars, two hundred and eighty in number, 
lit down to dinner. Every thing appeared nice, 
clean, and admirably ordered. At the mint, 
which interested me extremely, we found them 
coining silver crowns for the Levant trade, with 
the head of Maria Theresa, and the date 1780. 
We were also shown the beautifully engraved die 
for the medal which the university of Padua pre- 
sented to Belzoni. 

The evening was spent at the Teatro Ee, where 
we saw a bad sentimental comedy (una Commedia 
di Caraterre) exceedingly well acted. One actor, 
I thought almost equal to Dowton, in his own 
style ; — we had afterwards some fine music. Some 
of the Milanese airs, which the itinerant musicians 
give us, have considerable beauty and character. 
There is less monotony, I think, in their general 
style than in the Venetian music ; and perhaps 
less sentiment, less softness. When left alone to- 
night, to do penance on the sofa, for my late 
walks, and recruit for our journey to-morrow, — I 
tried to adapt English verses to one or two very 
pretty airs which Annoni brought me to-day, with- 
out the Italian words ; but it is a most difficult and 
invidious task. Even Moore, with his unequalled 
command over the lyric harmonies of our lan- 
guage, cannot perfectly satisfy ears accustomed to 
the 

" Linked sweetness long drawn out " 



vA BRESCIA. 

of the Italian vowels, combined with musical 
sounds : fancy such dissonant syllables as ex, pray, 
what, breaks, strength, uttered in minim time, — 
hissing and grating through half a bar, instead of 
the dulcet anima mia, Catina amdbile — Caro mio 
tesoro, &c. 

STANZAS FOE MUSIC. 

All that it hoped 

My heart believed, 
And when most trusting, 

Was most deceived. 

A shadow hath fallen 

O'er my young years ; 
And hopes when brightest, 

Were quench' d in tears, 

I make no plaint — 

I breathe no sigh — 
My lips can smile, 

And mine eyes are dry. 

I ask no pity, 

I hope no cure — 
The heart, tho' broken, 

Can live, and endure ! 

We left Milan two days ago, and arrived early 
the same day at Brescia : there is, I believe, very 
little to see there, and of that little, I saw nothing, 
•—being too ill and too low for the slightest exer 



5ft 



tion. The only pleasurable feeling I can remem- 
ber was excited by our approach to the Alps, aftei 
traversing the flat, fertile, uninteresting plains of 
Lombardy. The peculiar sensation of elevation 
and delight, inspired by mountain scenery, can 
only be understood by those who have felt it: at 
ieast I never had formed an idea of it till I found 
myself ascending the Jura. 

But Brescia ought to be immortalized in the 
history of our travels : for there, stalking down 
the Corso — le nez en I'air — we met our acquaint- 
ance L , from whom we had parted last on 

the pave of Piccadilly. I remember that in Lon- 
don I used to think him not remarkable for wis- 
dom, — and his travels have infinitely improved 
him — in folly. He boasted to us triumphantly 
that he had run over sixteen thousand miles in 
sixteen months : that he had bowed at the levee 
of the Emperor Alexander, — been slapped on the 
shoulder by the Archduke Constantine, — shaken 
hands with a Lapland witch, — and been presented 
in full volunteer uniform at every court between 
Stockholm and Milan. Yet is he not one particle 
wiser than if he had spent the same time in walk- 
ing up and down the Strand He has contrived, 
however, to pick up on his tour, strange odds and 
ends of foreign follies, which stick upon the coarse- 
grained materials of his own John Bull character 
fike tinfoil upon sackcloth • so that I see little dif- 
ference between what he was, and what he is, 



66 LAGO DI GARDA. 

except that, from a simple goose, — he has become a 

compound one. With all this, L is not 

unbearable — not yet at least. He amuses others as 
a butt — and me as a specimen of a new genus of 
fools : for his folly is not like any thing one usually 
meets with. It is not, par exemple, the folly of 
stupidity, for he talks much ; nor of dulness, for 
he laughs much ; nor of ignorance, for he haa 
seen much ; nor of wrong-headedness, for he 
can be guided right ; nor of bad-heartedness, for 
he is good-natured ; nor of thoughtlessness, for he 
is prudent ; nor of extravagance, for he can calcu- 
late even to the value of half a lira ; but it is an 
essence of folly, peculiar to himself, and like Mon- 
sieur Jaques's melancholy, " compounded of many 
simples, extracted from various objects, and the sun- 
dry contemplation of his travels." So much, for the 

present, of our friend L . 

We left Brescia early yesterday morning, and 
after passing Desenzano, came in sight of the Lago 
di Garda. I had from early associations a de- 
lightful impression of the beauty of this lake, and 
it did not disappoint me. It is far superior, I 
think, to the Lago Maggiore, because the scenery 
is more resserre', lies in a smaller compass, so 
that the eye takes in the separate features more 
easily. The mountains to the north are dark, 
broken and wild in their forms, and their bases 
seemed to extend to the water edge : the hills t« 
the south are smiling, beautiful, and cultivated 



LAGO DI GARDA. 57 

studded with white flat-roofed buildings, which 
glitter one above another in the sunshine. Our 
drive along the promontory of Sirmione, to visit 
the ruins of the Villa of Catullus, was delightful. 
The fresh breeze which ruffled the dark blue 
lake, revived my spirits, and chased away my 
head-ache. I was inclined to be enchanted with 
all I saw ; and when our guide took us into an 
old cellar choked with rubbish, and assured us 
gravely that it was the very spot in which Catul- 
lus had written his Odes to Lesbia, I did not 
laugh in his face ; for, after all, it would be as 
easy to prove that it is, as that it is not. The old 
town and castle of Sirmio are singularly pictu- 
resque, whether viewed from above or below ; and 
the grove of olives which crowned the steep ex- 
tremity of the promontory, interested us, being the 
first we had seen in Italy : on the whole I fully en- 
joyed the early part of this day. 

At Peschiera, which is strongly fortified, we 
crossed the Mincio. — 

fountain Arethuse, and thou honored flood, 
Smooth flowing Mhn" ius crowned with vocal reeds. 

Its waters were exquisitely transparent; but it 
was difficult to remember its poetical pretensions, 
in sight of those odious barracks and batteries 
The reeds mentioned by Virgil and Milton still 
flourish upon its banks, and I forgave them foi 



58 VERONA. 

spoiling in some degree the beauty of the shore, 
when I thought of Adelaide of Burgundy, who 
concealed herself among them for three days, 
when she fled from the dungeon of Peschiera to 
the arms of her lover. I was glad I had read her 
story in Gibbon, since it enabled me to add to clas- 
sical and poetical associations, an interest at once 
romantic and real. 

The rest to-morrow — for I can write no more. 

At Verona, Oct. 20. 
I had just written the above when I waa 
startled by a mournful strain from a chorus of 
voices, raised at intervals, and approaching grad- 
ually nearer. I walked to the window, and saw a 
long funeral procession just entering the church, 
which is opposite to the door of our inn. I imme- 
diately threw over me a veil and shawl, followed it, 
and stood by while the service was chaunted over 
the dead. The scene, as viewed by the light of 
about two hundred tapers, which were carried by 
the assistants, was as new to me as it was solemn 
and striking : but it was succeeded by a strange 
and forlorn contrast. The moment the service was 
over, the tapers were suddenly extinguished ; the 
priests and the relatives all disappeared in an in- 
conceivably short time, and before I was quite 
aware of what was going forward : the coffin 
stripped of its enrbroidered pall and garlands of 
flowers, appeared a mere chest of deal board* 



VERONA. 59 

roughly nailed together ; and was left standing on 
tressels, bare, neglected, and forsaken in the mid- 
dle of the church. I approached it almost fearfully, 
and with a deeper emotion than I believed such a 
thing could now excite within me. And here, 
thought I, rests the human being, who has lived and 
loved, suffered and enjoyed, and, if I may judge 
by the splendor of his funeral rites, has been hon- 
ored, served, flattered while living : — and now not 
one remains to shed a last tear over the dead, but a 
single stranger, a wanderer from a land he perhaps 
knew not : to whom his very name is unknown ! 
And while thus I moralized, two sextons appeared ; 
and one of them seizing the miserable and deserted 
coffin, rudely and unceremoniously flung it on his 
shoulders, and vanished through a vaulted door : 
and I returned to my room, to write this, and to 
think how much better, how much more humanely, 
we manage these things in our own England. 

Oct. 21. — Verona is a clean and quiet place, con- 
taining some fine edifices by Palladio and his pupils. 
The principal object of interest is the ancient am- 
phitheatre ; the most perfect I believe in Italy. 
The inner circle, with all its ranges of seats, is en- 
tire. We ascended to the top, and looked down 
into the Piazza d'arrne, where several battalions of 
Austrian soldiers were exercising ; their arms glit- 
tering splendidly in the morning sun. As I have 
uow been long enough in Italy to sympathize in 
the national hatred of the Austrians, I turned from 



60 VERONA. 

the sight, resolved not to be pleased. The arena of 
the amphitheatre is smaller, and less oval in form 
than I had expected : and in the centre there is a 
little paltry gaudy wooden theatre for puppets and 
tumblers, — forming a grotesque contrast to the 
massive and majestic architecture around it : but 
even tumblers and puppets, as Rospo observed, are 
better than wild beasts and ferocious gladiators. 

There is also at Verona a triumphal arch to the 
Emperor Gallienus ; the architecture and inscrip- 
tion almost as perfect as if erected yesterday ; — 
and a most singular bridge of three irregular arches, 
built, I believe, by the Scaligieri family, who were 
once princes of Verona. 

It is well known that the story of Romeo and 
Juliet is here regarded as a traditionary and indis- 
putable fact, and the tomb of Juliet is shown in a 
garden near the town. So much has been written 
and said on this subject, I can add only one observa- 
tion. To the reality of the story it has been ob- 
jected that the oldest narrator, Masuccio, relates it 
as having happened at Sienna : but might he not 
have heard the tradition at Verona, and transferred 
the scene to Sienna, since he represented it a* 
related by a Siennese ? — Delia Corte, whose history 
of Verona I have just laid down, mentions it as a 
real historical event ; and Louis da Porta, in his 
oeautiful novel, la Giulietta, expressly asserts that 
he has written it down from tradition. If Shaks. 
pear« as it is said, never saw the novel of Da 



61 



Porta, how came he by the names of Romeo and 
Juliet, the Montagues and the Capulets : if he did 
meet with it, how came he to depart so essentially 
from the story, particularly in the catastrophe ? 1 
must get some books, if possible, to clear up these 
difficulties. 

23d, at Padua. — We spent yesterday morning 
pleasantly at Vicenza. Palladio's edifices in general 
disappointed me ; partly because I am not architect 
enough to judge of their merits, partly because, of 
most of them, the situation is bad, and the materials 
paltry ; but the Olympic theatre, although its solid 
perspective be a mere trick of the art, surprised 
and pleased me. It has an air of antique and 
classic elegance in its decorations, which is very 
striking. I have heard it criticized as a specimen 
of bad taste and trickery : but why should its solid 
scenery be considered more a trick, and in bad 
taste, than a curtain of painted canvas ? In both 
a deception is practised and intended. We saw 
many things in Vicenza and its neighbourhood, 
which I have not time, nor spirits, to dwell upon. 

We arrived here (at Padua) last night, and to- 
day I am again ill : unable to see or even to wish to 
pee any thing. My eyes are so full of tears that I 
can scarcely write. I must lay down my pencil, 
lest I break through my resolution, and be tempted 
to record feelings I afterwards tremble to see writ- 
ten down.; — O bitter and too lasting remembrance ! 
I must sleep it away — even the heavy and drug- 



62 VENICE. 

bought sleep to which I am now reduced, is bettei 
than such waking moments as these. 



Venice, October 25th. 
I feel, while I gaze round me, as if I had seen 
Venice in my dreams — as if it were itself the 
vision of a dream. We have been here two days ; 
and I have not yet recovered from my first sur- 
prise. All is yet enchantment : all is novel, ex- 
traordinary, affecting from the many associations 
and remembrances excited in the mind. Pleasure 
and wonder are tinged with a melancholy interest ; 
and while the imagination is excited, the spirits are 



The morning we left Padua was bright, lovely 
and cloudless. Our drive along the shores of tho 
Brenta, crowned with innumerable villas and gay 
gardens, was delightful ; and the moment of our 
arrival at Fusina, where we left our carriages to 
embark in gondolas, was the most auspicious that 
could possibly have been chosen. It was about 
four o'clock : the sun was just declining towards 
the west : the whole surface of the lagune, smooth 
as a mirror, appeared as if paved with fire ; — and 
Venice, with her towers and domes, indistinctly 
glittering in the distance, rose before us like a 
gorgeous exhalation from the bosom of the oceaa 
It is farther from the shore than I expected. Aj 
we approached, the splendor faded : but the in- 



«3 



ierest and the wonder grew. I can conceive noth- 
mg more beautiful, more singular, more astonish- 
ing, than the first appearance of Venice, and sad 
indeed will be the hour when she sinks (as the 
poet prophesies) " into the slime of her own 
canals." 

The moment we had disembarked our luggage 
at the inn, we hired gondolas and rowed to the 
Piazzi di San Marco. Had I seen the church of 
St. Mark any where else, I should have exclaimed 
against the bad taste which every where prevails 
in it : but Venice is the proper region of the fan- 
tastic, and the church of St. Mark — with its four 
hundred pillars of every different order, color, 
and material, its oriental cupolas, and glittering 
vanes, and gilding and mosaics — assimilates with 
all around it : and the kind of pleasure it gives ia 
suitable to the place and the people. 

After dinner I had a chair placed on the bal- 
cony of our inn, and sat for some time contem- 
plating a scene altogether new and delightful. 
The arch of the Rialto just gleamed through the 
ieepening twilight ; long lines of palaces, at first 
partially illuminated, faded away at length into 
gloomy and formless masses of architecture ; the 
gondolas glided to and fro, their glancing lights 
reflected on the water. There was a stillness all 
around me, solemn and strange in the heart of a 
great city. No rattling carriages shook the streets, 
&o trampling of horses echoed along the pavement: 



64 VENICE. 

the silence was broken only by the melancholy cry 
of the gondoliers, and the dash of their oars ; by 
the low murmur of human voices, by the chime of 
the vesper bells, born over the water, and the 
sounds of music raised at intervals along the 
canals. The poetry, the romance of the scene 
stole upon me unawares. I fell into a reverie, in 
which visionary forms and recollections gave way 
to dearer and sadder realities, and my mind seemed 
no longer in my own power. I called upon the 
lost, the absent, to share the present with me — I 
called upon past feelings to enhance that moment's 
delight. I did wrong — and memory avenged her- 
self as usual. I quitted my seat on the balcony, 
with despair at my heart, and drawing to the table, 
took out my books and work. So passed our first 
evening at Venice. 

Yesterday we visited the Accademia, where there 
are some fine pictures. The famous Assumption 
by Titian is here, and first made me, feel what con- 
noisseurs mean when they talk of the carnations 
and draperies of Titian. We were shown two 
designs for monuments to the memory of Titian, 
modelled by Canova. Neither of them has been 
erected ; but the most beautiful, with a little alter- 
ation, and the substitution of a lady's bust for 
Titian's venerable head, has been dedicated, 1 
believe, to the memory of the Archduchess Chris- 
tina of Austria. I remember also an exquisite 
Canaletti, quite different in style and subject from 
»ny picture of this master I ever saw. 




VENICE. 65 

We then rowed to the ducal palare. The coun- 
cil chamber (I thought of Othello as I entered it) 
b now converted into a library. The walls are 
decorated with the history of Pope Alexander the 
Third, and Frederic Barbarossa, painted by the 
Tintoretti, father and son, Paul Veronese and 
Palma. Above them, in compartments, hang the 
portraits of the Doges ; among which Marino Fa- 
liero is not ; but his name only, inscribed on a kind 
of black pall. The Ganymede is a most exquisite 
little group, attributed to the age of Praxiteles ; 
and not without reason even to the hand of that 
sculptor. 

To-day we visited several churches — rich, on the 
outside, with all the luxury of architecture, — with- 
inside, gorgeous with painting, sculpture, and many- 
colored marbles. The prodigality with which the 
most splendid and costly materials are lavished 
here is perfectly amazing : pillars of lapis-lazuli, 
columns of Egyptian porphyry, and pavements of 
mosaic, altars of alabaster ascended by steps in- 
crusted with agate and jasper : — but to particular- 
ize would be in vain. I will only mention three 
or four which I wish to recollect : the Church of 
the Madonna della Salute, so called because erect- 
ed to the Virgin in gratitude for the deliverance 
of the city from a pestilence, which she miracuious- 
\y drove into the Adriatic. It is remarkable for 
its splendid* pictures, most of them by Luca Gior- 
dano ; and the superb high altar. I think it was 
6 



66 VENICE. 

the Church of the Gesuata which astonished us 
most. The whole of the inside walls and columns 
are encrusted with Carrara marble inlaid with verd- 
antique, in a kind of damask pattern ; over the 
pulpit it fell like drapery, so easy, so graceful, so 
exquisitely imitated, that I was obliged to touch it 
to assure myself of the material. Then by way of 
contrast followed the Church of San Giorgio Mag- 
giore, — one of Palladio's masterpieces. After the 
dazzling and gorgeous buildings we had left, its 
beautiful simplicity and correct taste struck me at 
first with an impression of poverty and coldness. 
At the Church of St. John and St. Paul is the 
famous martyrdom, or rather assassination, of St. 
Peter Martyr, by Titian, one of the most magical 
pictures in the world. Its tragic horror is redeem 
ed by its sublimity. Here too is a most admirable 
series of bas-reliefs in white marble, representing 
the history of our Saviour, the work of a modern 
sculptor. Here too the Doges are buried ; and 
close to the Church is the equestrian statue of one 
of the Falieri family : near which Marino Faliero 
met the conspirators. 

At the Frati is the grave of Titian : a small 
square slab covers him, with this inscription : — 
Qui giace il gran Tiziano Vecelli. 
Emulator dei Zeusi e degli Apelli. 

ihere is no monument : — and there needs none. 

It was, I think, in the Church of St. John and 
St. Paul, that I saw a singular and beautiful altar 



VENICE. 67 

&f black touch-stone, used when mass is said fof 
the soul of an executed criminal. 

This is all I can remember of to-day. 1 am 
fatigued, and my head aches ; — my imagination is 
yet dazzled : — my eyes are tired of admiring, my 
mind is tired of thinking, and my heart with feel- 
ing. Now for repose. 

27. — To-day we visited the Manfrini Palace, the 
Casa Pisani, the Palazzo Barberigo, and concluded 
the morning in the colonnade of St. Mark, and the 
public gardens. The day has been far less fatigu- 
ing than yesterday : for though we have seen an 
equal variety of objects, they forced the attention 
less, and gratified the imagination more. 

At the Manfrini Palace there is the most valu- 
able and splendid collection of pictures I have yet 
seen in Italy or elsewhere. I have no intention of 
turning my little Diary into a mere catalogue of 
names which I can find in every guide-book ; but 
I cannot pass over Giorgione's beautiful group of 
himself, and his wife and child, which Lord Byron 
calls " love at full length and life, not love ideal," 
and it is indeed exquisite. A female with a guitar 
by the same master is almost equal to it. There 
are two Lucretias — one by Guido and one by 
Giordano : though both are beautiful, particularly 
the former there was, I thought, an impropriety 
m the conception of both pictures : the figure was 
too voluptuous — too exposed, and did not give me 
tfie idea of the matronly Lucretia, who so carefully 



18 VENICE. 

arranged her drapery before she fell. I remember, 
too, a St. Ocilia, by Carlo Dolci, of most heavenly 
beauty, — two Correggios — Iphigenia in Aulis, by 
Padovaniwo : in this picture the figure of Agamem- 
non is a complete failure, but the lifeless beauty 
of Iphigenia, a wonderful effort of art : and a hun- 
dred others at least, all masterpieces. 

The 'Barberigo Palace was the school of 
Titian. We were shown the room in which he 
painted, and the picture he left unfinished when 
he died at the age of 99. It is a David — as 
vigorous in the touch and style as any of his first 

pictures. 

***** 

It is now some days since I had time to write ; 
or rather the intervals of excitement and occupa- 
tion found me too much exhausted to take up my 
pencil. Our stay at Venice has been rendered 

most agreeable by the kindness of Mr. H , the 

British Consul, and his amiable and charming wife, 
and in their society we have spent much of the 
last few days. 

One of our pleasantest excursions was to the 
Armenian convent of St. Lazaro, where we were 
received by Fra Pasquale, an accomplished and 
intelligent monk, and a particular friend of Mr, 

H . After we had visited every part of the 

convent, the printing press — the library — the lab- 
oratory — which contains several fine mathematical 
Instruments of English make ; and admired the 



VENICE. 69 

beautiful little tame gazelle which bounded through 
the corridors, we were politely refreshed with 
most delicious sweetmeats and coffee ; and took 
leave of Fra Pasquale with regret. 

There is no opera at present, but we have 
visited both the other theatres. At the San 
Luca, they gave us " Elizabeth, the Exile of 
Siberia," tolerably acted : but there was one trait 
introduced very characteristic of the place and 
people : Elizabeth, in a tremendous snow storm, 
is pursued by robbers; and finding a crucifix, 
erected by the roadside, embraces it for protec- 
tion. The crucifix flies away with her in a clap of 
thunder, and sets her down safely at a distance 
from her persecutors. The audience appeared 
equally enchanted and edified by this scene : some 
of the women near me crossed themselves, and 
put their handkerchiefs to their eyes : the men 
rose from their seats, clapped with enthusiasm, 
and shouted " Bravo ! Miracolo ! " 

At the San Benedetto we were gratified by a 
deep tragedy entitled " Gabrielle Innocente," so 
exquisitely absurd, and so grotesquely acted, thai 
the best comedy could scarcely have afforded us 
more amusement, — certainly not more merriment. 
In the course of thf evening, coffee and ices were 
served in our box, as is the custom here. 

With Mrs. H this evening I had a long and 

pleasant conversation i, she is really one of the 
Host delightful and unaffected women I ever met 



fO VENICE. 

with : and as there is nothing in my melancholy 
visage and shrinking reserve to tempt any person 
to converse with me, I must also set her down as 
one of the most good-natured. She talked much 
of Lord Byron, with whom, during his residence 
here, she was on intimate terms. She spoke of 
him, not conceitedly as one vain of the acquaint- 
ance of a great character ; nor with affected 
reserve, as if afraid of committing herself — but 
with openness, animation, and cordial kindness, as 
one whom she liked, and had reason to like. She 
says the style of Lord Byron's conversation is 
very much that of Don Juan : just in the same 
manner are the familiar, the brilliant, the sublime, 
the affecting, the witty, the ludicrous, and the 
licentious, mingled and contrasted. Several little 
anecdotes which she related I need not write 
down ; I can scarcely forget them, and it would 
not be quite fair as they were told en conjiance. 
I am no anecdote hunter, picking up articles for 
4 my pocket book." 

* T * V * 

A little while ago Captain F. lent me Dis- 
raeli's Essays on the Literary Character, which 
had once belonged to Lord Byron ; and contained 
marginal notes in his handwriting. One or two 
of them are so curiously characteristic that I copy 
them here. 

The first note is on a passage in which DTs- 
"aeli, in allusion to Lord Byron, traces his fond 



71 



ness for oriental scenery to his having read Rycaut 
at an early age. On this, Lord Byron observes, 
that he read every book relating to the East before 
he was ten years old, including De Tott and Can- 
temir as well as Rycaut : at that age, he says that 
he detested all poetry, and adds, " when I was 
in Turkey, I was oftener tempted to turn mussul- 
man than poet : and have often regretted since 
that / did not" 

At page 99, D'Israeli says, 

" The great poetical genius of our times has 
openly alienated himself from the land of his 
brothers," (over the word brothers Lord Byron 
has written Cains.) " He becomes immortal in 
the language of a people whom he would contemn, 
he accepts with ingratitude the fame he loves 
more than life, and he is only truly great on that 
spot of earth, whose genius, when he is no more, 
will contemplate his shade in sorrow and in 
anger." 

Lord Byron has underlined several words in 
this passage, and writes thus in the margin : 

" What was rumored of me in that language, 
if true, I was unfit for England ; and if false, Eng 
land was unfit for me. But ' there is a world else 
where.' I have never for an instant regretted that 
country, — but often that I ever returned to it. It 
<s not my fault that I am obliged to write in Eng- 
Vsh. If I understood anv present language, Italian, 
for instance, equally well, I would write in it : — but 



72 VENICE. 

it will require ten years, at least, to form a style. 
No tongue so easy to acquire a little of, and so dif- 
ficult to master thoroughly, as Italian." 

The next note is amusing ; at page 342 is men- 
tioned the anecdote of Petrarch, who when return- 
ing to his native town, was informed that the pro- 
prietor of the house in which he was born had 
often wished to make alterations in it, but that the 
town's-people had risen to insist that the house con- 
secrated by his birth should remain unchanged ; — 
"a triumph," adds D'Israeli, "more affecting to 
Petrarch than even his coronation at Rome." 

Lord Byron has written in the margin — " It 
would have pained me more that the proprietor 
should often have wished to make alterations, than 
it would give me pleasure that the rest of Arezzo 
rose against his right ( for right he had ) : the de- 
preciation of the lowest of mankind is more pain- 
ful, than the applause of the highest is pleasing. 
The sting of the scorpion is more in torture than 
the possession of any thing short of Venus would 

be in rapture." 

***** 

The public gardens are the work of the French, 
and occupy the extremity of one of the islands. 
They contain the only trees I have seen at Venice: 
— a few rows of dwarfish unhappy-looking shrubs, 
parched by the sea breezes, and are little fre- 
quented. We found here a solitary gentleman, 
who was sauntering up and down with his handi 



VENICE. 73 

jn his pockets, and a look at once stupid and dis* 
consolate. Sometimes he paused, looked vacantly 
over the waters, whistled, yawned, and turned 
away to resume his solemn walk. On a trifling 
remark addressed to him by one of our party, he 
entered into conversation, with all the eagerness of 
a man, whose tongue had long been kept in most 
unnatural bondage. He congratulated himself on 
having met with some one who would speak Eng- 
lish ; adding contemptuously, that " he understood 
none of the outlandish tongues the people spoke 
hereabouts :" he inquired what was to be seen here, 
for though he had been four days in Venice, he 
had spent every day precisely in the same manner; 
viz. walking up and down the public gardens. We 
told him Venice was famous for fine buldings and 
pictures ; he knew nothing of them things. And 
that it contained also, " some fine statues and an- 
tiques" — he cared nothing about them neither — he 
should set off for Florence the next morning, and 
begged to know what was to be seen there ? Mr. 
B, told him, with enthusiasm, " the most splen- 
did gallery of pictures and statues in the world 1 ' 
He looked very blank and disappointed " Noth- 
ing else ? " then he should certainly not waste his 
time at Florence, he should go direct to Koine ; he 
had put down the name of that town in his pocket- 
book, for he understood it was a very convenient 
Dlace : he should therefore stay there a week . 
&eDce he should go to Naples, a place he had ab» 



74 VENICE. 

heard of, where he should stay another week ; then 
he should go to Algiers, where he should stay three 
weeks, and thence to Tunis, where he expected to 
be very comfortable, and should probably make a 
long stay; then he should return home, having 
seen every thing worth seeing. He scarcely seemed 
to know how or by what route he had got to 
Venice — but he assured us he had come "fast 
enough ;" — he remembered no place he had passed 
through except Paris. At Paris, he told us, 
there was a female lodging in the same hotel with 
himself, who, by his description, appears to have 
been a single lady of rank and fashion, travelling 
with her own carriages and a suite of servants. He 
had never seen her ; but learning through the do- 
mestics that she was travelling the same route, he 
sat down and wrote her a long letter, beginning 
" Dear Madam," and proposing they should join 
company, " for the sake of good fellowship, and the 
bit of chat they might have on their way." Of 
course she took no notice of this strange billet, 
" from which," added he witl ludicrous simplicity, 
" I supposed she would rather travel alone." 

Truly, " Nature hath framed strange fellows in 
her time." After this specimen, sketched from 
Life, who will say there are such things as caric* 
tures ? 

***** 

We visited to-day the Giant's Staircase and the 
Bridge of Sighs, and took a last farewell of St 



VENICE. 75 

Mark — we were surprised to see the church hung 
with black — the festoons of flowers all removed — 
masses going forward at several altars, and crowds 
of people looking particularly solemn and devout. 
It is the " Giorno dei morte," the day by the Ro- 
man Catholics consecrated to the dead I observed 
many persons, both men and women, who wept 
while they prayed, with every appearance of the 
most profound grief Leaving St. Mark, I crossed 
the square. On the three lofty standards in front 
of the church, formerly floated the ensigns of the 
three states subject to Venice, — theMorea, Cyprus, 
and Candia : the bare poles remain, but the en- 
signs of empire are gone. One of the standards 
was extended on the ground, and being of immense 
length, I hesitated for a moment whether I should 
make a circuit, but at last stepped over it. I looked 
back with remorse, for it was like trampling over 
the fallen. 

We then returned to our inn to prepare for our 
departure. How I regret to leave Venice ! not 
the less because I cannot help it. 

Rovigo, Nov. 8. 

We left Venice in a hurry yesterday, slept at 
Padua, and travelled this morning through a most 
lovely country, among the Enganean hills to 
Rovigo, where we are very uncomfortably lodged 
It the Albergo di San Marco. 

I have not yet recovered my regret at leaving 



76 VENICE. 

Venice so unexpectedly ; though as a residence. I 
could scarce endure it; the sleepy canals, the 
gliding gondolas in their " dusk livery of woe " — 
the absence of all verdure, all variety — of all 
nature, in short ; the silence, disturbed only by the 
incessant chiming of bells — and, worse than all, the 
spectacle of a great city " expiring," as Lord Byron 
says, " before our eyes," would give me the hor- 
rors: but as a visitor, my curiosity was not halt 
gratified, and I should have liked to have stayed a 
few days longer — perhaps after all, I have reason 
to rejoice that instead of bringing away from Ven- 
ice a disagreeable impression of satiety, disgust, 
and melancholy, I have quitted it with feelings 
of admiration, of deep regret, and undiminished 
interest. 

Farewell, then, Venice ! I could not have be- 
lieved it possible that it would have brought tears 
to my eyes to leave a place merely for its own 
sake, and unendeared by the presence of any one 
I loved. 

As Rovigo affords no other amusement I shall 
scribble a little longer. 

Nothing can be more arbitrary than the Austrian 
government at Venice. As a summary method of 
preventing robberies during the winter months, 
when many of the gondoliers and fishermen are 
out of employ, the police have orders to arrest, 
without ceremony, every person who has no per- 
manent trade or profession, and keep them in 



77 



confinement and to hard labor till the return of 
ipring. 

The commerce of Venice has so much and so 

rapidly declined, that Mr. H told us when first 

he was appointed to the consulship, a hundred and 
fifty English vessels cleared the port, and this year 
only five. It should seem that Austria, from a 
cruel and selfish policy, is sacrificing Venice to the 
prosperity of Trieste : but why do I call that a 
cruel policy, which on recollection I might rather 
term poetical and retributive justice ? 

The grandeur of Venice arose first from its trade 
in salt. I remember reading in history, that when 
the king of Hungary opened certain productive 
salt mines in his dominions, the Venetians sent 
him a peremptory order to shut them up ; and 
such was the power of the Republic at that time, 
that he was forced to obey this insolent command, 
to the great injury and impoverishment of his 
states. The tables are now turned : the oppressor 
has become the oppressed. 

The principal revenue derived from Venice is 
from the tax on houses, there being no land tax. 
So rapid was the decay of the place, that in two 
years seventy houses and palaces were pulled 
down; the government forbade this by a special 
law, and now taxes are paid for many houses 
whose proprietors are too poor to live in them. 

There is no society, properly so called, at Venice ; 
:hree old women of rank receive company now and 
then, and it is any thing rather than select. 



Mr. F. told us at Venice, that, on entering th« 
states subject to Austria, he had his Johnson's Dic- 
tionary taken from him. and could never recover 
it; so jealous is the government of English princi- 
ples and English literature, that all English books 
are prohibited until examined by the police. 

The whole country from Milan to Padua was 
like a vast garden, nothing could exceed its fertility 
and beauty. It was the latter end of the vintage ; 
and we frequently met huge tub-like waggons 
loaded with purple grapes, reeling home from the 
vineyards, and driven by men whose legs were 
stained with treading in the wine-press — now and 
then, rich clusters were shaken to the ground, as I 
have seen wisps of straw fall from a hay-cart m 
England, and were regarded with equal indiffer« 
ence. Sometimes we saw in the vineyards by the 
road-side, groups of laborers seated among th& 
branches of the trees, and plucking grapes from 
the vines, which were trailed gracefully from tree 
to tree and from branch to branch, and drooped 
with their luxurious burden of fruit. The scene 
would have been as perfectly delightful, as it was 
new and beautiful, but for the squalid looks of the 
peasantry ; more especially of the women. The 
principal productions of the country seem to be 
wine and silk. There were vast groves of mul- 
berry trees between Verona and Padua ; and we 
visited some of the silk-mills, in which the united 
strength of men invariably performed those opera- 



JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 79 

tions -which in England are accomplished by steam 
or water. I saw in a huge horizontal wheel, about 
a dozen of these poor creatures labouring so hard ; 
that my very heart ached to see them, and I 
begged that the machine might be stopped that I 
might speak to them : — but when it was stopped, 
and I beheld their half savage, half stupefied, I had 
almost said brutified countenances, I could not 
utter a single word — but gave them something, and 
turned away. 

" Compassion is wasted upon such creatures," 

said R ; " do you not see that their minds are 

degraded down to their condition ? they do not 
pity themselves : " — but therefore did I pity them 
the more. 

Bologna, Nov. 5. 

I fear I shall retain a disagreeable impression 
of Bologna, for here I am again ill. I have seen 
little of what the town contains of beautiful and 
curious : and that little, under unpleasant and 
painful circumstances. 

Yesterday we passed through Ferrara ; only 
stopping to change horses and dine. We snatched 
a moment to visit the hospital of St. Anna and the 
prison of Tasso — the glory and disgrace of Fer- 
rara. Over the iron gate is written " Ingresso 
alia prigione di Torquato Tasso." The cell itself 
is miserably gloomy and wretched, and not above 
twelve feet square. How amply has posterity 



80 JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 

Avenged the cause of the poet on his tyrant ! — and 
as we emerge from his obscure dungeon and 
descend the steps of the hospital of St. Anna, 
with what fervent hatred, indignation, and scorn, 
do we gaze upon the towers of the ugly red brick 
palace, or rather fortress, which deforms the great 
square, and where Alphonso feasted while Tasso 
wept ! The inscription on the door of the cell 
calling on strangers to venerate the spot where 
Tasso, " Infermo piu di tristezza che delirio," 
was confined seven years and one month — was 
placed there by the French, and its accuracy may 
be doubted ; as far as I can recollect. The grass 
growing in the wide streets of Ferrara is no 
poetical exaggeration ; I saw it rank and long 
even on the thresholds of the deserted houses, 
whose sashless windows, and flapping doors, and 
roofless walls, looked strangely desolate. 

I will say nothing of Bologna ; — for the few 
days I have spent here have been to me days 
of acute suffering, in more ways than I wish to re- 
member, and therefore dare not dwell upon. 

At Covigliajo in the Apennines. 

O for the pencil of Salvator, or the pen of a 
Radcliffe ! But could either, or could both 
united, give to my mind the scenes of to-day, in 
all their splendid combinations of beauty and 
brightness, gloom and grandeur ? A picture may 
present to the eye a small portion of the boundlest 



JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 81 

whole — one aspect of the ever- varying face of 
nature ; and words, how weak are they ! — they 
are but the elements out of which the quick imag- 
ination frames and composes lovely landscapes, 
according to its power or its peculiar character; 
and in which the unimaginative man finds only 
a mere chaos of verbiage, without form, and void. 
The scenery of the Apennines is altogether 
different in character from that of the Alps : it is 
less bold, less lofty, less abrupt and terrific — but 
more beautiful, more luxuriant, and infinitely more 
varied. At one time, the road wound among prec- 
ipices and crags, crowned with dismantled for- 
tresses and ruined castles — skirted with dark pine 
forests — and opening into wild recesses of gloom, 
and immeasurable depths like those of Tartarus 
profound ; then 'came such glimpses of paradise ! 
such soft sunny valleys and peaceful hamlets — and 
vine-clad eminences and rich pastures, with here 
and there a convent half hidden by groves of 
cypress and cedars. As we ascended we arrived 
at a height from which, looking back, we could 
see the whole of Lombardy spread at our feet ; a 
vast, glittering, indistinct landscape, bounded on 
the north by the summits of the Alps, just ap- 
parent above the horizon, like a range of small 
Bilvery clouds ; and on the east, a long unbroken 
line of bluish fight marked the far distant Adriatic ; 
as the day dec-ined, and we continued our ascent, 
f occasionally assisted by a yoke of oxen where the 



82 JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 

activity was very precipitate,) the mountains 
closed around us, the scenery became more wildly 
romantic, barren, and bleak. At length, after 
passing the crater of a volcano, visible through 
the gloom by its dull red light, we arrived at the 
Inn of Covigliajo, an uncouth dreary edifice, 
situated in a lonely and desolate spot, some miles 
from any other habitation. This is the very inn, 
infamous for a series of the most horrible assassi- 
nations, committed here some years ago. Travel- 
lers arrived, departed, disappeared, and were never 
heard of more ; by what agency, or in what man- 
ner disposed of, could not be discovered. It waa 
supposed for some time that a horde of banditti 
were harbored among the mountains, and the 
police were for a long time in active search for 
them, while the real miscreants remained unsus- 
pected for their seeming insignificance and help- 
lessness ; these were the mistress of the inn, the 
cameriere, and the curate of the nearest village, 
about two leagues off. They secretly murdered 
every traveller who was supposed to carry prop- 
erty — buried or burned their clothes, packages, 
and vehicles, retaining nothing but their watches, 
jewels, and money. The whole story, with all its 
horrors, the manner of discovery, and the fate of 
these wretches, is told, I think, by Forsyth, who 
can hardly be suspected of romance or exaggera- 
tion. I have him not with me to refer to ; but I 
well remember the mysterious and shuddering 



.10URNEY TO FLORENCE. 83 

dread with which I read the anecdote. I am glad 
no one else seems to recollect it. The inn at pres- 
ent contains many more than it can possibly ac- 
commodate. We have secured the best rooms, or 
rather the only rooms — and besides ourselves and 
other foreigners, there are numbers of native trav- 
ellers : some of whom arrived on horseback, and 
others with the Vetturini. A kind of gallery or 
corridor separates the sleeping rooms, and is 
divided by a curtain into two parts : the smaller 
is appropriated to us, as a saloon : the other half, 
as I contemplate it at this moment through a rent 
in the curtain, presents a singular and truly Italian 
spectacle— a huge black iron lamp, suspended by 
a chain from the rafters, throws a flaring and 
shifting light around. Some trusses of hay have 
been shaken down upon the floor, to supply the 
place of beds, chairs, and tables ; and there, re- 
clining in various attitudes, I see a number of 
dark-looking figures, some eating and* drinking, 
some sleeping ; some playing at cards, some tell- 
ing stories with all the Italian variety of gesticula- 
tion and intonation ; some silently looking on, or 
listening. Two or three common looking fellows 
began to smoke their cigars, but when it was 
suggested that this might incommode the ladies 
on the other side of the curtain, they with genuine 
politeness ceased directly. Through this motley 
and picturesque assemblage I have to make my 
way to my bed-room in a few minutes — I will taka 
tnother 1 aok at them, and then andiamo ! 



84 FLORENCE. 

Florence, Not. 8. 

"La bellisema e faniosissima figlia di Roma, r 
as Dante calls her in some relenting moment. 
Last night we slept in a blood-stained hovel — and 
to-night we are lodged in a palace. So much for 
the vicissitudes of travelling. 

I am not subject to idle fears, and least of all to 
superstitious fears — but last night, at Covigliajo, 
I could not sleep — I could not even lie down for 
more than a few minutes together. The whis- 
pered voices and hard breathing of the men who 
slept in the corridor, from whom only a slight 
door divided me, disturbed and fevered my nerves ; 
horrible imaginings were all around me : and 
gladly did I throw open my window at the first 
glimpse of the dawn, and gladly did I hear the 
first well-known voice which summoned me to a 
hasty breakfast. How reviving was the breath oi 
the early morning, after leaving that close, suffo- 
cating, ill-omened inn ! how beautiful the blush of 
light stealing downwards from the illumined sum- 
mits to the valleys, tinting the fleecy mists, as 
they rose from the earth, till all the landscape 
was flooded with sunshine : and when at length we 
passed the mountains, and began to descend into 
the rich vales of Tuscany — when from the neights 
above Fesole, we beheld the city of Florence, and 
above it the young moon and the evening star sus- 
pended side by side ; and floating over the whole 
of the Val d'Arno, and the lovely hills which 



FLORENCE. 84 

inclose it, a mist, or rather a suffusion of the 
richest rose color, which gradually, as the day 
declined, faded, or rather deepened into purple ; 
then I first understood all the enchantment of an 
Italian landscape. — O what a country is this 1 All 
that I see, I feel — all that I feel, sinks so deep 
into my heart and my memory ! the deeper be- 
cause I suffer — and because I never think of ex- 
pressing, or sharing, one emotion with those around 
me, but lock it up in my own bosom ; or at least 
in my little book — as I do now. 

Nov. 10. — We visited the gallery for the first 
time yesterday morning ; and I came away with 
my eyes and imagination so dazzled with excel- 
lence, and so distracted with variety, that I re- 
tained no distinct recollection of any particular 
object except the Venus ; which of course wag 
the first and great attraction. This morning wag 
much more delightful ; my powers of discrimina- 
tion returned, and my power of enjoyment was 
not diminished. New perceptions of beauty and 
excellence seemed to open upon my mind ; and 
faculties long dormant, were roused to pleasurable 
activity. 

I came away untired, unsated ; and with a de- 
lightful and distinct impression of all I had seen. 
I leave to catalogues to particularize ; and am coi* 
tent to admire and to remember. 

I am glad I was not disappointed in the Venus, 
which I half expected. Neither was I surprised : 



86 FLORENCE. 

but I felt while I gazed a sense of unalloyed ana 
unmingled pleasure, and forgot the cant of criti- 
cism. It has the same effect to the eye, that per- 
fect harmony has upon the ear : and I think I can 
understand why no copy, cast, or model, however 
accurate, however exquisite, can convey the im- 
pression of tenderness and sweetness, the divine 
and peculiar charm of the original. 

After dinner we walked in the grounds of the 
Cascine, — a dairy farm belonging to the grand 
duke, just without the gates of Florence. The 
promenade lies along the bank of the river, and is 
sheltered and beautiful. We saw few native 
Italians, but great numbers of English walking 
and riding. The day was as warm, as sunny, 
as brilliant as the first days of September in 
England. 

To-night, after resting a little, I went out to view 
the effect of the city and surrounding scenery, by 
moonlight. It is not alone the brilliant purity of 
the skies and atmosphere, nor the peculiar char- 
acter of the scenery which strikes a stranger ; but 
here art harmonizes with nature : the style of the 
buildings, their flat projecting roofs, white walls, 
balconies, colonnades, and statues, are all set off 
to advantage by the radiance of an Italian moon. 

I walked across the first bridge, from which I 
had a fine view of the Ponte della Trinita, with 
r ts graceful arches and light balustrade, touched 
fcith the sparkling moonbeams and relieved by 



FLORENCE. 61 

dark shadow: then I strolled along the, quay in 
front of the Corsini palace, and beyond the colon- 
nade of the Uffizi, to the last of the four bridges ; 
on the middle of which I stood and looked back 
upon the city — (how justly styled the Fair !) — with 
all its buildings, its domes, its steeples, its bridges, 
and woody hills, and glittering convents, and mar- 
ble villas, peeping from embowering olives and 
cypresses; and far off the snowy peaks of the 
Apennines, shining against the dark purple sky ; 
the whole blended together in one delicious scene 
of shadowy splendor. After contemplating it 
with a kind of melancholy delight, long enough to 
get it by heart, I returned homewards. Men were 
standing on the wall along the Arno, in various 
picturesque attitudes, fishing, after the Italian 
fashion, with singular nets suspended to long poles ; 
and as I saw their dark figures between me and 
the moonlight, and elevated above my eye, they 
looked like colossal statues. I then strayed into 
the Piazza del Gran Duca. Here the rich moon- 
light, streaming through the arcade of the gallery, 
fell directly upon the fine Perseus of Benvenuto 
Cellini ; and illuminating the green bronze, touched 
it with a spectral and supernatural beauty. Thence 
I walked round the equestrian statue of Cosmo, 
^nd so home over the Ponte Alia Carrajo. 

Nov. 11. — I spent about two hours in the gal- 
lery, and for the first time saw the Niobe. This 
statue has been for a long time a favorite of my 



88 FLORENCE. 

imagination, and I approached it, treading softly 
and slowly, and with a feeling of reverence ; for 1 
had an impression that the original Niobe would, 
like the original Venus, surpass all the casts and 
copies I had seen, both in beauty and expression : 
but apparently expression is more easily caught 
than delicacy and grace, and the grandeur and 
pathos of the attitude and grouping easily copied 
— for I think the best casts of the Niobe are accu- 
rate counterparts of the original ; and at the first 
glance I was capriciously disappointed, because 
the statue did not surpass my expectations. It 
should be contemplated from a distance. It is 
supposed that the whole group once ornamented 
the pediment of a temple — probably the temple 
of Diana or Latona. I once saw a beautiful 
drawing by Mr. Cockerell, of the manner in 
which he supposed the whole group was distrib- 
uted. Many of the figures are rough and unfin- 
ished at the back, as if they had been placed on 
a height, and viewed only in front. 

In the same room with the Niobe is a head 
which struck me more — the Alexandre Mourant. 
The title seemed to me misapplied; for there ia 
something indignant and upbraiding, as well as 
mournful, in the expression of this magnificent 
head. It is undoubtedly Alexander — but Alex- 
ander reproaching the gods — or calling upon 
Heaven for new worlds to conquer. 

I visited also the gallery of Bronzes : it contain* 



FLORENCE. Ho 

among other master-pieces, the aerial Mercury of 
John of Bologna, of which we see such a multi- 
plicity of copies. There is a conceit in perching 
him upon the bluff cheeks of a little Eolus ■ hut 
what exquisite lightness in the figure ! — how it 
mounts, how it floats, disdaining the earth ! On 
leaving the gallery, I sauntered about; visited 
some churches, and then returned home depressed 
and wearied : and in this melancholy humor I had 
better close my book, lest I be tempted to write 
what I could not bear to see written. 

Sunday. — At the English ambassador's chapel. 
To attend public worship among our own country- 
men, and hear the praises of God in our native 
accents, in a strange land, among a strange people ; 
where a different language, different manners, 
and a different religion prevail, affects the mind, 
or at least ought to affect it ; — and deeply too : 
yet I cannot say that I felt devout this morning. 
The last day I visited St. Mark's, when I knelt 
down beside the poor weeping girl and her dove- 
basket, my heart was touched, and my prayers, I 
humbly trust, were not unheard : to-day, in that 
hot close-crowded room, among those fine people 
flaunting in all the luxury of dress, I felt suffo- 
cated, feverish, and my head ached — the clergy- 
man too 

***** 

Samuel Rogers paid us a long visit this morn- 
jig. He does not look as if the suns of Italy had 



50 FLORENCE. 

revivified him — but he is as amiable and amusing 
&s ever. He talked long, et avec beaucoup d'onc- 
tion, of ortolans and figs ; till methought it was 
the very poetry of epicurism ; and put me in mind 
of his own suppers — 

" Where blushing fruits through scatter' d leaves invite, 
Still clad in bloom and veiled in azure light. 
The wine as rich in years as Horace sings; " 

and the rest of his description, worthy of a poeti- 
cal Apicius. 

Rogers may be seen every day about eleven or 
twelve in the Tribune, seated opposite to the 
Venus, which appears to be the exclusive object 
of his adoration ; and gazing, as if he hoped , like 
another Pygmalion, to animate the statue ; or 
rather, perhaps, that the statue might animate him. 
A young Englishman of fashion, with as much 
talent as espieglerie, placed an epistle in verse 
between the fingers of the statue, addressed to 
Rogers ; in which the goddess entreats him not 
to come there ogling her every day ; — for though 
" partial friends might deem him still alive," she 
knew by his looks he had come from the other side 
of the Styx ; and retained her antique abhorrence 
of the spectral dead, &c, &c. She concluded by 
beseeching him, if he could not desist from haunt- 
ing her with his ghostly presence, at least to spart 
oer the added misfortune of being be-rhymed by 
tds muse. 



FLORENCE. 91 

Eogers, with equal good nature and good sense, 
neither noticed these lines, nor withdrew his friend- 
ship and intimacy from the writer. 

Carlo Dolce is not one of my favorite masters. 
There is a cloying sweetness in his style, a general 
want of power which wearies me : yet I brought 
away from the Corsini Palace to-day an impression 
of a head by Carlo Dolce, (La Poesia,) which I 
shall never forget. Now I recall the picture, I am 
at a loss to tell where lies the charm which has 
thus powerfully seized on my imagination. Here 
are no " eyes upturned like one inspired " — no dis- 
tortion — no rapt enthusiasm — no Muse full of the 
God ; — but it is a head so purely, so divinely intel- 
lectual, so heavenly sweet, and yet so penetrating, 
— so full of sensibility, and yet so unstained by 
earthly passion — so brilliant, and yet so calm — 
that if Carlo Dolce had lived in our days, I should 
have thought he intended it for the personified 
genius of Wordsworth's poetry. There is such an 
individual reality about this beautiful head, that I 
am inclined to believe the tradition, that it is the 
portrait of one of Carlo Dolce's daughters who 
died young : — and yet 

" Did ever mortal mixture of earth's mould 
Breathe cuch divine, enchanting ravishment ? " 

♦ * * * * 

Nov. 15. — Our stay at Florence promises to 



92 FLORENCE. 

be far gayer than either Milan or Venice, or even 
Paris : more diversified by society, as well as afford- 
ing a wider field of occupation and amusement. 

Sometimes in the long evenings, when fatigued 
and over-excited, I recline apart on the sofa, or 
bury myself in the recesses of a fauteuil ; when I 
am aware that my mind is wandering away to for- 
bidden themes, I force my attention to what is 
going forward ; and often see and hear much that 
is entertaining, if not improving. People are so 
accustomed to my pale face, languid indifference 

and, what M calls, my impracticable silence, 

that after the first glance and introduction, I be- 
lieve they are scarcely sensible of my presence : so 
I sit, and look, and listen, secure and harbored in 
my apparent dulness. The flashes of wit, the 
attempts at sentiment, the affectation of enthusi- 
asm, the absurdities of folly, and the blunders of 
ignorance ; the contrast of characters and the 
clash of opinions, the scandalous anecdotes of the 
day, related with sprightly malice, and listened to 
with equally malicious avidity, — all these, in my 
days of health and happiness, had power to sur- 
prise, or amuse, or provoke me. I could mingle 
then in the conflict of minds ; and bear my part 
with smiles in the social circle ; though the next 
moment perhaps I might contemn myself and 
others : and the personal scandal, the character 
istic tale, the amusing folly, or the malignant wit 
were effaced from my mind — 



FLORENCE. 95 



-" Like forms with chalk 



Painted on rich men's floors for one feast night." 

Now it is different : I can smile yet, but my 
smile is in pity, rather than in mockery. If suffer- 
ing has subdued my mind to seriousness, and per- 
haps enfeebled its powers, I may at least hope 
that it has not soured or embittered my temper : 
— if what could once amuse, no longer amuses, — 
what could once provoke has no longer power to 
irritate : thus my loss may be improved into a gain 
— car tout est bien, quand tout est mal. 

It is sorrow which makes our experience ; it ia 
sorrow which teaches us to feel properly for our- 
selves and for others. We must feel deeply, be- 
fore we can think rightly. It is not in the tem- 
pest and storm of passions we can reflect, — but 
afterwards when the waters have gone over our 
soul; and like the precious gems and the rich 
merchandise which the wild wave casts on the 
6hore out of the wreck it has made — such are the 
thoughts left by retiring passions. 

Reflection is the result of feeling ; from that 
absorbing, heart-rending compassion for one's self, 
(the most painful sensation, almost, of which our 
nature is capable,) springs a deeper sympathy for 
others ; and from the sense of our own weakness, 
and our own self-upbraiding, arises a disposition 
to be indulgent — to forbear — and to forgive — so at 
least it ought to be. When once we have shed 
those inexpressibly bitter tears, which fall wire- 



94 FLORENCE. 

garded, and which we forget to wipe away, 
how we shrink from inflicting pain ! how we 
shudder at unkindness ! — and think all harshness 
•jven in thought, only another name for cruelty t 
These are but common-place truths, I know, which 
have often been a thousand times better expressed. 
Formerly I heard them, read them, and thought 
I believed them : now I feel them ; and feeling, 
I utter them as if they were something new. — 
Alas ! the lessons of sorrow are as old as the world 
itself. 

To-day we have seen nothing new. In the 
morning I was ill : in the afternoon we drove to 
the Cascina ; and while the rest walked, I spread 
my shawl upon the bank and basked like a lizard 
in the sunshine. It was a most lovely day, a 
summer-day in England. In this paradise of a 
country, the common air, and earth, and skies, 
seem happiness enough. While I sat to-day, on 
my green bank — languid, indeed, but free from 
pain — and looked round upon a scene which has 
lost its novelty, but none of its beauty, — where 
Florence, with its glittering domes and its back- 
ground of sunny hills, terminated my view on one 
side, and the Apennines, tinted with rose color 
and gold, bounded it on the other, I felt not only 
pleasure, but a deep thankfulness that such pleas- 
ures were yet left to me. 

Among the gay figures who passed and repassed 
before me, I remarked a benevolent but rather 



FLORENCE. 93 

heavv-looking old gentleman, with a shawl hanging 
over his arm, and holding a parasol, with which he 
was gallantly shading a little plain old woman from 
the November sun. After them walked two young 
ladies, simply dressed ; and then followed a tall 
and very handsome young man, with a plain but 
elegant girl hanging on his arm. This was the 
Grand Duke and his family ; with the Prince of 
Carignano, who has lately married one of his 
daughters. Two servants in plain drab liveries, 
followed at a considerable distance. People po- 
litely drew on one side as they approached ; but 
no other homage was paid to the sovereign, who 
thus takes his walk in public almost every day. 
Lady Morgan is merry at the expense of the 
Grand Duke's taste for brick and mortar : but 
monarchs, like other men, must have their amuse- 
ments ; some invent uniforms, some stitch embroid- 
ery ; — and why should not this good-natured Grand 
Duke amuse himself with his trowel if he likes it ? 
As to the Prince of Carignano, I give him up to 
her lash — le traitre — but perhaps he thought he 
was doing right : and at all events there are not 
flatterers wanting, to call his perfidy patriotism, 

I am told that Florence retains its reputation of 
being the most devout capital in Italy, and that 
here love, music, and devotion, hold divided em- 
pire, or rather are tria juncta in uno. The liberal 
patronage and taste of Lord Burghersh, contribute 



•3 FLORENCE. 

perhaps to make music so much a passion as it is at 
present. Magnelli, the Grand Duke's Maestra cL 
Cappella, and director of the Conservatorio, is the 
finest tenor in Italy. I have the pleasure of hear- 
ing him frequently, and think the purity of his 
taste at least equal to the perfection of his voice ; 
rare praise for a singer in these " most brisk and 
giddy-paced times." He gave us last night the 
beautiful recitative which introduces Desdemona's 
song in Othello — 

Nessum maggior dolore, 
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice 
Nella miseria ! 

and the words, the music, and the divine pathos of 
the man's voice combined, made me feel — as I 
thought I never could have felt again. 



TO 



As sounds of sweetest music, heard at eve, 
"When summer dews weep over languid flowers, 
When the still air conveys each touch, each tone, 
However faint — and breathes it on the ear 
With a distinct and thrilling power, that leaves 
Its memory long within the raptur'd soul, — 
— Even such thou art to me ! — and thus I sit 
And feel the harmony that round thee lives, 
And breathes from every feature. Thus I sit — 
And when most quiet — cold — or silent — then 
Even then, I feel each word, each look, each tone . 



FLORENCE. 97 

There's not an accent of that tender voice, 
There's not a day-beam of those sunbright eyes, 
Nor passing smile, nor melancholy grace, 
Nor thought half utter' d, feeling half betray' d, 
Nor glance of kindness, — no, nor gentlest touch 
Of that dear hand, in amity extended, 
That e'er was lost to me ; — that treasur'd well, 
And oft recalled, dwells not upon my soul 
Like sweetest music heard at summer's eve ! 



Yesterday we visited the church of San Ley 
renzo, the Laurentian library, and the Pietra Dura 
manufactory, and afterwards spent an hour in the 
Tribune. 

In a little chapel in the San Lorenzo are Michel 
Angelo's famous statues, the Morning, the Noon, 
the Evening, and the Night. I looked at them 
with admiration rather than with pleasure; for 
there is something in the severe and overpower- 
ing style of this master, which affects me disagree- 
ably, as beyond my feeling, and above my com- 
prehension. These statues are very ill disposed 
for effect : the confined cell (such it seemed) in 
which they are placed is so strangely dispropor- 
tioned to the awful and massive grandeur of their 
forms. 

There is a picture by Michel Angelo, considered 
a chef d'eeuvre, which hangs in the Tribune, to 
the right of the Yenus : now if all the connois- 
seurs in the world, with Vasari at their head, were 
to harangue for an hour together on the merits o£ 
7 



98 FLORENCE. 

this picture, I might submit in silence, for I am no 
connoisseur ; but that it is a disagreeable, a hateful 
picture, is an opinion which fire could not melt 
out of me. In spite of Messieurs les Connoisseurs, 
and Michel Angelo's fame, I would die in it at the 
stake : for instance, here is the Blessed Virgin, not 
the " Yergine Santa, d'ogni grazia piena," but a 
Virgin, whose brick-dust colored face, harsh, un- 
feminine features, and muscular, masculine arms, 
give me the idea of a washerwoman, (con rispetto 
parlando !) an infant Saviour with the proportions 
of a giant : and what shall we say of the nudity 
of the figures in the background ; profaning the 
subject and shocking at once good taste and good 
sense ? A little farther on, the eye rests on the 
divine Madre di Dio of Correggio : what beauty, 
what sweetness, what maternal love, and humble 
adoration are blended in the look and attitude 
with which she bends over her infant ! Beyond it 
hangs the Madonna del Cardellino of Baffaelle : 
what heavenly grace, what simplicity, what saint- 
like purity, in the expression of that face, and that 
exquisite mouth ! And from these must I turn 
back, on pain of being thought an ignoramus, to 
admire the coarse perpetration of Michel Angelo 
— because it is Michel Angelo's ? But I speak in 
ignorance.* 
To return to San Lorenzo. The chapel of the 

* This was indeed ignorance ! (1834.) 



FLORENCE. 99 

Medici, begun by Ferdinand the First, where 
coarse brickwork and plaster mingle with marble 
and gems, is still unfinished and likely to remain 
so : it did not interest me. The fine bronze sar- 
cophagus, which encloses the ashes of Lorenzo the 
Magnificent, and of his brother Giuliano, assassin- 
ated by the Pazzi, interested me far more. While 
I was standing carelessly in front of the high altar, 
I happened to look down, and under my feet were 
these words, " To Cosmo the Venerable, the 
Father of his Country" I moved away in 
haste, and before I had uecided to my own satis- 
faction upon Cosmo's claims to the gratitude and 
veneration of posterity, we left the church. 

At the Laurentian library we ^vere edified by 
the sight of some famous old manuscripts, invalu- 
able to classical scholars. To my unlearned eyes 
the manuscript of Petrarch, containing portraits of 
himself and Laura, was more interesting. Pe- 
trarch is hideous — but I was pleased with the head 
of Laura, which in spite of the antique dryness 
and stiffness of the painting, has a soft and delicate 
expression not unlike one of Carlo Poke's Ma- 
donnas. Here we saw Galileo's fore-finger, point- 
ing up to the skies from a white marble pedestal ; 
and exciting more derision than respect. 

At the Pietra Dura, notwithstanding the beauty 
and durability of some of the objects manufactured, 
the result seemed to me scarce worth *he incredible 
tune, patience, and labor required in the work 



100 FLORENCE 

Par cxemple, six months' hard labor spent upon a 
butterfly in the lid of a snuff-box seems a most dis- 
proportionate waste of time. Thirty workmen are 
employed here at the Grand Duke's expense ; for 
this manufacture, like that of the Gobelins at 
Paris, is exclusively carried on for the sovereign. 

Nov. 20. — I am struck in this place with grand 
beginnings and mean endings. I have not yet 
seen a finished church, even the Duomo has no 
facade. 

Yesterday we visited the Palazzo Mozzi to see 
Benvenuto's picture, " The Night after the Battle, 
of Jena." Then several churches ; the Santa Croce, 
which is hallowed ground : the Annonciata, cele- 
brated for the frescos of Andrea del Sarto ; and 
the Carmine, which pleased me by the light ele- 
gance of its architecture, and its fine alto-relievos 
in white marble. In this church is the chapel of 
the Madonna del Carmele, painted by Masuccio, and 
the most ancient frescos extant : they are curious 
rather than beautiful, and going to decay. 

To-day we visited the school of the Fine Arts : 
it contains a very fine and ample collection of 
casts after the antique ; and some of the works 
of modern artists and students are exhibited. 
Were I to judge from the specimens I have seen 
here and elsewhere, I should say that a cold, glar- 
ing, hard tea-tray style prevails in painting, and a 
Btill worse taste, if possible, in sculpture. No soul, 
no grandour, no simplicity ; a meagre insipidity ir 



FLORENCE. 101 

fN<s conceptior , a nicety of finish in the detail ; affec- 
tation instead of grace, distortion instead of power, 
and prettiness instead of beauty. Yet the artists 
who execute these works, and those who buy them, 
have free access to the marvels of the gallery, and 
the treasures of the Pitti Palace. Are they sans 
eyes, sans souls, sans taste, sans every thing, but 
money and self-conceit ? 

Nov. 22. — Our mornings, however otherwise oc- 
cupied, are generally concluded by an hour in the 
gallery or at the Pitti Palace ; the evenings are 
spent in the Mercato Nuovo, in the workshops of 
artists, or at the Cascina. 

To-day at the gallery I examined the Dutch 
school and the Salle des Portraits, and ended aa 
usual with the Tribune. The Salle des Portraits 
contains a complete collection of the portraits of 
painters down to the present day. In general 
their respective countenances are expressive of 
their characters and style of painting. Poor Har- 
low's picture, painted by himself, is here. 

The Dutch and Flemish painters (in spite of 
their exquisite pots and pans, and cabbages and 
carrots, their birch-brooms, in which you can count 
every twig, and their carpets, in which you can 
reckon every thread) do not interest me ; their 
landscapes too, however natural, are mere Dutch 
mature, (with some brilliant exceptions,) fat cattle, 
flipped trees, boors, and windmills. Of course I 
wn not speaking of Vandyke, nor of Rubens, ha 



102 FLORENCE. 

that " in the colors of the rainbow lived," nor of 
Rembrandt, that king of clouds and shadows ; but 
for mine own part, I would give up all that Mieris, 
Netscher, Teniers, and Gerard Douw ever pro- 
duced, for one of Claude's Eden-like creations, or 
one of Guido's lovely heads — or merely for the plea- 
Bure of looking at Titian's Flora once a day, I would 
give a whole gallery of Dutchmen, if I had them. 

In the daughter of Herodias, by Leonardo da 
Vinci, there is the same eternal face he always 
paints, but with a peculiar expression — she turns 
away her head with the air of a fine lady, whose 
senses are shocked by the sight of blood and death, 
while her heart remains untouched either by re- 
morse or pity. 

His ghastly Medusa made me shudder while it 
fascinated me, as if in those loathsome snakes, 
writhing and glittering round the expiring head, 
and those abhorred and fiendish abominations 
crawling into life, there still lurked the fabled spell 
which petrified the beholder. Poor Medusa ! was 
this the guerdon of thy love? and were those 
the tresses which enslaved the ocean's lord ? Me- 
n-inks that in this wild mythological fiction, in the 
errific vengeance which Minerva takes for her 
profaned temple, and in the undying snakes which 
forever hiss round the head of her victim — there 
»s a deep moral, if woman would lay it to hei 
heart. 

Tn Guercino's Endymion, the very mouth if 



FLORENCE. 108 

nsleep : in his Sibyl the very eyes are prophetic, 
and glance into futurity. 

The boyish, but divine St. John, by Raffaelle, 
did not please me so well as some of his portraits 
and Madonnas ; his Leo the Tenth, for instance, 
his Julius the Second, or even his Fornarina : and 
I may observe here, that I admire Titian's taste 
much more than Raffaelle's, en fait de maitresse. 
The Fornarina is a mere femme dupeuple, a coarse 
virago, compared to the refined, the exquisite La 
Manto, in the Pitti Palace. I think the Flora must 
have been painted from the same lovely model, as 
far as I can judge from compared recollections, for 
I have no authority to refer to. The former is the 
most elegant, and the latter the most poetical 
female portrait I ever saw. At Titian's Venus in 
the Tribune, one hardly ventures to look up ; it is 
the perfection of earthly loveliness, as the Venus de' 
Medici is all ideal — all celestial beauty. In the 
multiplied copies and engravings of this picture I 
see everywhere, the bashful sweetness of the coun- 
tenance, and the tender languid repose of the 
figure are made coarse, or something worse : de- 
graded, in short, into a character altogether unlike 
the original. 

I say nothing of the Gallery of the Palazzo 
Pitti ; which is not a collection so much as a selec- 
tion of the most invaluable gems and masterpieces 
of art. The imagination dazzled and bewildered 
by excellence can scarcely make a choice — but I 






104 FLORENCE. 

think tlio Madonna Delia Seggiola of RatFaelle, 
Alton's magnificent Judith, Guido's Cleopatra, and 
Salvator's Catiline, dwell most, upon my memory. 

* * * ♦ 

Nov. 94, — After dinner, we drove to the beauti- 
ful gardens of the Villa Stroszi, on the Monte 

IHivetto, and the evening we spent at the Coeo- 
mero, where we saw a detestable opera, capitally 
acted, and heard the most vile, noisy, unmeaning 
music, sung to perfection. 

* * * * 

'28. — "Corinne" I find is a fashionable rtide 
mecum for sentimental travellers in Italy ; and that 
I tOO might be a Id /node, I brought it from Molini's 
tO-day, with the intention of reading on the Spot, 
those admirable and affecting passages which relate 
to Florence ; but when I began to cut the leaves, 
a kind oi' terror seized me, and I threw it down, 
resolved not to open it again. I know myself 
weak — I feel myself unhappy ; and to find my own 
feelings relleeted from the pages of a book, in 
language too deeply and eloquently true, is not 
good for me. I want no helps to admiration, nor 
need I kindle my enthusiasm at the torch of 
another's mind. I can sutler enough, feel enough, 
think enough, without this. 

Not being well, I spent a long morning at home, 
•ltd then strayed into the church of the Santo 
BpiritO, which is near our hotel. There is in this 
church a fine copy of Michel Angelo's Pietfe 



FLORENCE. 10ft 

which a monk, whom I met in the church, insisted 
was the original. But I believe the originalissimo 
group is at Rome. There are also two fine pic- 
tures, a marriage of the Virgin, in a very sweet 
Guido-like s*yle, and the woman taken in adultery. 
This church is the richest in paintings I have seer 
here. I remarked a picture of the Virgin said to 
be possessed of miraculous powers ; and that part 
of it visible, is not destitute of merit as a painting ; 
but some of her grateful devotees, having decor- 
ated her with a real blue silk gown, spangled with 
tinsel stars, and two or three crowns, one above 
another, of gilt foil, the effect is the oddest imagin- 
able. As I was sitting upon a marble step, philos- 
ophizing to myself, and wondering at what seemed 
to me such senseless bad taste, such pitiable and 
ridiculous superstition, there came up a poor 
woman leading by the hand a pale and delicate 
boy, about four years old. She prostrated herself 
before the picture, while the child knelt beside her, 
and prayed for some time with fervor ; she then 
lifted him up, and the mother and child kissed the 
picture alternately with great devotion ; then mak- 
ing him kneel down and clasp his little hands, she 
began to teach him an Ave Maria, repeating it 
word for word, slowly and distinctly, so that I got 
it by heart too. Having finished their devotions, 
the mother put into the child's hands a piece of 
money, which she directed him to drop into a box, 
uoiBcribed, " per i poveri vergognosi " — " for the 



106 FLORENCE. 

bashful poor ; " they then went their way. I was 
an unperceived witness of this little scene, which 
strongly affected me : the simple piety of this poor 
woman, though mistaken in its object, appeared to 
me respectable ; and the Virgin, in her sky-blue 
brocade and her gilt tiara, no longer an object to 
ridicule. I returned home rejoicing in kinder, 
gentler, happier thoughts ; for though I may wish 
these poor people a purer worship, yet, as Words- 
worth says somewhere, far better than I could 
express it — 

" Rather would I instantly decline 
To the traditionary sympathies 
Of a most rustic ignorance, — 
This rather would I do, than see and hear 
The repetitions wearisome of sense 
Where soul is dead, and feeling hath no place." 

The Ave Maria which I learnt, or rather stole 
from my poor woman, pleases me by its simplicity. 

AVE MARIA. 

Dio ti salvi, O Maria, piena di grazia ! II Sig- 
nore e teco ! tu sei benedetta fra le donne, e bene- 
detto e il frutto del tuo seno, Gesu ! Santa Maria ! 
madre di Dio ! Prega per noi peccatori, adesso, e 
nell 'ora della nostra morte ! e cosi sia.* 

* Hail, Maria, full of grace ! the Lord is with thee . blessed 
wrt thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb. 
•Ten Jesus Holy Virgin Mary, mother o* God ! pray for us sia 
ners — both now and in the hour cf death . Amen. — 'Ed.] 



FLORENCE. 10? 



Sunday. — Attended divine service at the Eng- 
lish ambassador's, in the morning, and in the even- 
ing, not being well enough to go to the Cascine, I 
remained at home. I sat down at the window and 
read Foscolo's beautiful poem, " I sepolcri : " the 
subject of my book, and the sight of Alfieri's house 
meeting my eye whenever I looked up, inspired 
the idea of visiting the Santa Croce again, and I 
ventured out unattended. The streets, and partis 
ularly the Lung* Arno, were crowded with gay 
people in their holiday costumes. Not even our 
Hyde Park, on a summer Sunday, ever presented 
a more lively spectacle or a better dressed mob. I 
"was often tempted to turn back rather than en- 
counter this moving multitude ; but at length I 
found my way to the Santa Croce, which pre- 
sented a very different scene. The service was 
over; and a few persons were walking up and 
down the aisles, or kneeling at different altars. In 
a chapel on the other side of the cloisters, they 
were chanting the "Via Crucis ; and the blended 
voices swelled and floated round, then died away, 
then rose again, and at length sunk into silence. 
The evening was closing fast, the shadows of the 
heavy pillars grew darker and darker, the tapers 
round the high altar twinkled in the distance like 
dots of light, and the tombs of Michel Angelo, of 
Galileo, of Machiavelli, and Alfieri, were projected 
?rom the deep shadow in indistinct formless masses ; 



108 FLORENCE. 

but I needed not to see them to image them before 
me ; for with each and all my fancy was familiar 
I spent about an hour walking up and down — 
abandoned to thoughts which were melancholy, 
but not bitter. All memory, all feeling, all grief, 
all pain were swallowed up in the sublime tran- 
quillity which was within me and around me. How 
could I think of myself, and of the sorrow which 
swells at my impatient heart, while all of genius 
that could die, was sleeping round me; and the 
spirits of the glorious dead — they who rose above 
their fellow-men by the might of intellect — whose 
aim was excellence, the noble end " that made am- 
bition virtue," were, or seemed to me, present ? — 
and if those tombs could have opened their pon- 
derous and marble jaws, what histories of sufferings 
and persecution, wrongs and wretchedness, might 
they not reveal ! Galileo — 

chi vide 
Sotto l'etereo padiglion rotarsi 
Piu mondi, e il sole iradiarli immoto, 

pining in the dungeons of the Inquisition ; Ma( hi 
avelli, 

quel grande, 
Che temprando lo scettro a' regratori, 



Gil allor ne sfronda- 



tortured and proscribed ; Michel Angelo, perse- 
cuted by envy ; and Alfieri perpetually torn, as he 



FLORENCE. 109 

describes himself, by two furies — " Ira e Malin- 
conia " — 

" La mente e il cor in perpetua lite." 

But they fulfilled their destinies : and inexorable 
Fate will be avenged upon the favorites of Heaven 
and nature. I can remember but one instance in 
which the greatly gifted spirit was not also the 
conspicuously wretched mortal — our own divine 
Shakspeare — and of him we know but little. 

In some books of travels I have met with, Boc- 
caccio, Aretino, and Guicciardini, are mentioned 
among the illustrious dead of the Santa Croce. 
The second, if his biographers say true, was a 
wretch, whose ashes ought to have been scattered 
in the air. He was buried I believe at Venice — or 
no matter where. Boccaccio's tomb is, or was, at 
Certaldo ; and Guicciardini's — I forget the name 
of the church honored by his remains — but it is 
not the Santa Croce. 

The finest figure on the tomb of Michel Angelo 
is Architecture. It should be contemplated from the 
left, to be seen to advantage. The effect of Al- 
fieri's monument depends much on the position of 
the spectator : when viewed in front, the figure of 
Italy is very heavy and clumsy ; and in no point 
of view has It the grace and delicacy which Can- 
ova's statues generally possess. 

There is a most extraordinary picture in this 
church, representing God the Father supporting a 



110 FLORENCE. 

dead Christ, by Cigoli, a painter little known in 
England, though I have seen some admirable pic- 
tures of his in the collections here : his style re- 
minds me of Spagnoletto's. 

***** 

Our departure is fixed for Wednesday next 
and though I know that change and motion are 
good for me, yet I dread the fatigue and excite- 
ment of travelling ; and I shall leave Florence with 
regret. For a melancholy invalid like myself, there 
cannot be a more delightful residence : it is gay 
without tumult — quiet, yet not dull. I have not 
mingled in society ; therefore cannot judge of the 
manners of the people. I trust they are not exact- 
ly what Forsyth describes ; with all his taste he 
sometimes writes like a caustic old bachelor ; and 
on the Florentines he is peculiarly severe. 

We leave our friend L. behind for a few days, 
and our "Venice acquaintance V. will be our com- 
pagnon de voyage to Rome. Of these two young 
men, the first amuses me by his follies, the latter 
rather fatigues de trop de raison. The first talks 
toe much, the latter too little : the first speaks, and 
speaks egregious nonsense ; the latter never says 
any thing beyond common-place : the former al- 
ways makes himself ridiculous, and the latter never 
makes himself particularly agreeable : the first is 
(con rispetto parlando) a great fool, and the latter 
would be pleasanter were he less wise. Between 
these two opposites, I was standing this evening o» 



FLORENCE. Ill 

the banks of the Arno, contemplating a sunset of 
unequalled splendor. L. finding that enthusiasm 
was his cue, played off various sentimental antics, 
peeped through his fingers, threw his head on one 
Bide, exclaiming, " Magnificent, by Jove ! grand 1 
grandissimo ! It just reminds me of what Shaks- 
peare says : ' Fair Aurora ' — I forget the rest." 

V. with his hands in his pockets, contemplated 
the superb spectacle — the mountains, the valley, 
the city flooded with a crimson glory, and the river 
flowing at our feet like molten gold — he gazed on 
it all with a look of placid satisfaction, and then 
broke out — " Well ! this does one's heart good ! " 

L. (I owe him this justice,) is not the author of 
the famous blunder which is now repeated in every 
circle. I am assured it was our neighbour, Lord 
G., though I scarce believe it, who, on being pre- 
sented with the Countess of Albany's card, ex- 
claimed — " The Countess of Albany ! Ah ! — true — > 
I remember : wasn't she the widow of Charles the 
Second, who married Ariosto ? " There is in this 
celebrated bevue, a glorious confusion of times and 
persons, beyond even my friend L.'s capacity. 
***** 

The whole party are gone to the Countess of 
Albany's to-night to take leave : that being, as L 
Bays, " the correct thing." Our notions of correct- 
ness vary with country and climate. What Eng- 
lishwoman at Florence would not be au desespoir, 
to be shut from the Countess of Albany's parties — 



112 FLORENCE. 

though it is a known and indisputable fact, that she 
was never married to Alfieri ? Apropos d'Alfieri 
■ — I have just been reading a selection of his trage- 
dies — his Filippo, the Pazzi, Virginia, Mirra ; and 
when I have finished Saul, I will read no more of 
them for some time. There is a superabundance 
of harsh energy, and a want of simplicity, tender- 
ness, and repose throughout, which fatigues me, 
until admiration becomes an effort instead of a 
pleasurable feeling. Marochesi, a celebrated tra- 
gedian, who, Minutti says, understood " la vera 
filosojia della comica" used to recite Alfieri's trag- 
edies with him or to him. Alfieri was himself a 
bad actor and declaimer. I am surprised that the 
tragedy of Mirra should be a great favorite on the 
stage here. A very young actress, who made her 
debut in this character, enchanted the whole 
city by the admirable manner in which she 
performed it ; and the piece was played for 
eighteen nights successively : a singular triumph 
for an actress, though not uncommon for a singer. 
In spite of its many beauties and the artful man- 
agement of the story, it would, I think, be as im- 
possible to make an English audience endure the 
Mirra, as to find an English actress who would ex- 
hibit herself in so revolting a part. 

***** 

Tuesday.— Out last day at Florence. I walked 
down to the San Lorenzo this morning early, and 
made a sketch of the sarcophagus of Lorenzo de 



FLORENCE. 118 

Medici. Afterwards we spent an hour in the gal- 
lery, and bid adieu to the Venus — 

bella Venere ! 

Che sola sei, 
Piacer degli uomini 

E degli dei ! 

When I went to take a last look of Titian's Flora, 
I found it removed from its station, and an artist 
employed in copying it. I could have envied the 
lady for whom this copy was intended ; but com- 
forted myself with the conviction that no hireling 
dauber in water-colors could do justice to the 
heavenly original, which only wants motion and 
speech to live indeed. We then spent nearly two 
hours in the Pitti Palace ; and the court having lately 
removed to Pisa, we had an opportunity of seeing 
Canova's Venus, which is placed in one of the 
Grand Duke's private apartments. She stands in 
the centre of a small cabinet, panelled with mir- 
rors, which reflect her at once in every possible 
point of view. This statue was placed on the 
pedestal of the Venus de' Medicis during her 
forced resi lence at Paris ; and is justly considered 
as the triumph of modern art : but though a most 
beautiful creature, she is not a goddess. I looked 
in vain for that full divinity, that ethereal some- 
thing which breathes round the Venus of the Trib- 
une. In another private room are two magnificent 
landscapes by Salvator Rosa. 
8 



114 FLORENCE. 

Every good catholic has a portrait of the Virgin 
hung at the head of his bed ; partly as an object 
of devotion, and partly to scare away the powers of 
evil : and for this purpose the Grand Duke has 
suspended by his bedside one of the most beauti- 
ful of Raffaelle's Madonnas. Truly, I admire the 
good taste of his piety, though it is rather selfish 
thus to appropriate such a gem, when the merest 
daub would answer the same purpose. It was only 
by secret bribery I obtained a peep at this picture, 
as the room is not publicly shown. 

The lower classes at Florence are in general ill- 
looking ; nor have I seen one handsome woman 
since I came here. Their costume too is singularly 
unbecoming; but there is an airy cheerfulness and 
vivacity in their countenances, and a civility in 
their manners which is pleasing to a stranger. I 
was surprised to see the women, even the servant 
girls, decorated with necklaces of real pearl of con- 
siderable beauty and value. On expressing my 
surprise at this to a shopkeeper's wife, she informed 
me that these necklaces are handed down as a kind 
of heir-loom from mother to daughter ; and a young 
woman is considered as dowered who possesses a 
handsome chain of pearl. If she has no hope of one 
in reversion, she buys out of her little earnings 
a pearl at a time, till she has completed a neck 
lace. 

The style of swearing at Florence is peculiarly 
elegant and classical. I hear the vagabonds in th# 



FLORENCE. 111 

street adjuring Venus and Bacchus ; and my shoe- 
maker swore " by the aspect of Diana," that he 
would not take less than ten pauls for what wai 
worth about three ; — yet was the knave forsworn. 
* t • « * 







116 JOURNEY TO ROME. 



JOURNEI TO ROME. 

S0FFK1 E TACT. 

Ye empty shadows of unreal good ! 
Phantoms of joy ! — too long — too far pursued, 
Farewell ! no longer will I idly mourn 
O'er vanish' d hopes that never can return; 
No longer pine o'er hoarded griefs — nor chide 
The cold vain world, whose falsehood I have triea. 
Me, never more can sweet affections move, 
Nor smiles awake to confidence and love : 
To me, no more can disappointment spring, 
Nor wrong, nor scorn one bitter moment bring ! 
With a firm spirit — though a breaking heart, 
Subdu'd to act through life my weary part, 
Its olosing scenes in patience I await, 
And by a stern endurance, conquer fate- 

December 8. — In beginning another volume, 1 
feel almost inclined to throw the last into the fire 
as in writing it I have generally begun the record 
of one day by tearing away the half of what was 
written the day before : but though it contains 
much that I would rather forget, and some things 
written under the impression of pain, and sick an<? 
irritable feelings, I will not yet ungratefully de- 
stroy it. I have frequently owed to my little 



JOURNEY TO ROME. 117 

Diary not amusement only, but consolation. It has 
gradually become not only the faithful depository 
of my recollections, but the confidante of my 
feelings, and the sole witness of my tears. I know 
not if this be wise : but if it be folly, I have the 
comfort of knowing that a mere act of my will 
destroys forever the record of my weakness ; and 
meantime a confidante whose mouth is sealed with 
a patent lock and key, and whom I can put out 
of existence in a single moment, is not danger- 
ous; so, as Lord Byron elegantly expresses it, 
" Here goes." 

We left Florence this morning ; and saw the sun 
rise upon a country so enchantingly beautiful, that 
I dare not trust myself to description : but I felt it, 
and still feel it — almost in my heart. The blue 
cloudless sky, the sun pouring his beams upon a 
land, which even in this wintry season smiles when 
others languish — the soft varied character of the 
scenery, comprising every species of natural beauty 
— the green slope, the woody hill, the sheltered 
valley, — the deep dales, into which we could just 
peep, as the carriage whirled us too rapidly by — 
the rugged fantastic rocks, cultivated plains, and 
sparkling rivers, and, beyond all, the chain of the 
Apennines with light clouds floating across them, 
or resting in their recesses — all this I saw, and felt, 
and shall not forget. 

I write this at Arezzo, the birthplace of Pe- 
trarch, of Kedi, of Pignotti, and of that Guido wlw 



118 JOURNEY TO ROMB. 

discovered Counter-point. Whether Arezzo is re« 
tnarkable for any thing else, I am too sleepy to 
recollect : and as we depart early to-morrow morn- 
ing, it would only tantalize me to remember. We 
arrived here late, by the light of a most resplen- 
dent moon. If such is this country in winter, what 
must it be in summer ? 

9tfi, at Perugia. — All the beauties of natural 
scenery have been combined with historical asso- 
ciations, to render our journey of to-day most inter- 
esting; and with a mind more at ease, nothing 
had been wanting to render this one of the most 
delightful days I have spent abroad. 

At Cortona, Hannibal slept the night before the 
battle of Thrasymene. Soon after leaving this 
town on our left, we came in view of the lake, and 
the old tower on its banks. There is an ancient 
ruin on a high eminence to the left, which our 
postilion called the " Forteressa di Annibale il 
Carthago." Further on, the Gualandra hills seem 
to circle round the lake ; and here was the scene 
of the battle. The channel of the Sanguinetto, 
which then ran red with the best blood of Rome 
and Carthage, was dry when we crossed it — 

" And hooting boys might dry-shod pass, 
" And gather pebbles from the naked ford. " 

While we traversed the field of battle at a slow 
pace, Y. who had his Livy in his pocket, read 
aloud his minute description of the engagement 



JOURNEY TO ROME. 119 

and we could immediately point out the different 
places mentioned by the historian. The whole 
valley and the hills around are now covered with 
olive woods; and from an olive-tree which grew 
close to the edge of the lake, I snatched a branch 
as we passed by, and shall preserve it — an emblem 
of peace, from the theatre of slaughter. The 
whole landscape as we looked back upon it from 
a hill on this side of the Casa del Rano, was ex- 
ceedingly beautiful. The lake seemed to slumber 
in the sunshine ; and Passignano jutting into the 
water, with its castellated buildings, the two little 
woody islands, and the undulating hills enclosing 
the whole, as if to shut it from the world, made it 
look like a scene fit only to be peopled by fancy's 
fairest creations, if the remembrance of its blood- 
stained glories had not started up, to rob it of half 

its beauty. Mrs. R compared it to the lake 

of Geneva; but in my own mind, I would not 
admit the comparison. The lake of Geneva stands 
alone in its beauty; for there the sublimest and 
the softest features of nature are united : there the 
wonderful, the wild, and the beautiful, blend in one 
mighty scene ; and love and heroism, poetry and 
genius, have combined to hallow its shores. The 
lake of Perugia is far more circumscribed : the 
scenery around it wants grandeur and extent; 
though so beautiful in itself, that if no comparison 
tad been made, no want would have been sug- 
gested : and on the bloody field of Thrasymene I 



120 JOURNEY TO UOMR 

looked with curiosity and interest unmingled witli 
pleasure. 1 have, long survived my sympathy 
with the flighting heroes of antiquity. All this I 
thought as we slowly walked up the hill, but I was 

silent ai usual : as daques says, " I can think of 

as many matters as other men, but 1 praise God, 

and make no boast of it." Wo arrived hero too 
late CO sec any thing of the city. 

Dec.lOth, at Tenii. — The ridiculous contretemps 

we sometimes meel with would bematterof amuse- 
ment to me, if they did not affect others. And in 
truth, as far as paying well, and BOOlding well, can 

go, it is impossible to travel more magnificently, 

more a la milor /\>i<//ais than we do: but there is 
no Controlling fate ; mui here, as our evil destinies 
will have it, a company of Strolling actors had 
taken possession oi' the best quarters before our 
arrival ; and our accommodations are, 1 must con- 
fess, tolerably bad. 

When we left Perugia this morning, the city, 
throned upon its lofty eminence, with its Craggy 

rocks, its tremendous fortifications, and its massy 
gateways, had an imposing effect. Forwards, we 

looked over a valley, which so resembled a lake, 
the hills projecting above the glittering white vapor 
having the appearanoe of islands scattered over 
its surface, that, at (he first glanoe, 1 was posi- 
tively deceived; and all my topographical knowl- 
edge, which 1 had conned on the map the night 

before, completely put to the rout. As the day 



JOURNEY TO ROME. 121 

advanced, th.s white mist sank gradually to the 
earth, like a veil dropped from the form of a beau- 
tiful woman, and nature stood disclosed in all her 
loveliness. 

Trevi, on its steep and craggy hill, detached 
from the chain of mountains, looked beautiful as 
we gazed up at it, with its buildings mingled with 
rocks and olives — 

I had written thus far when we were all obliged 
to decamp in haste to our respective bed-rooms ; 
as it is found necessary to convert our salon into a 
dormitory. I know I shall be tired, and very tired 
to-morrow, — therefore add a few words in pencil, 
before the impressions now fresh on my mind are 
obscured. 

After Trevi came the Clitumnus with its little 
fairy temple ; and we left the carriage to view it 
from below, and drink of the classic stream. The 
temple (now a chapel) is not much in itself, and 
was voted in bad taste by some of our party. To 
me the tiny fane, the glassy river, more pure and 
limpid than any fabled or famous fountain of old, 
the beautiful hills, the sunshine, and the associa- 
tions connected with the whole scene, were en- 
chanting ; and I could not at the moment descend 
to architectural criticism. 

The road to Spoleto was a succession of olive 
grounds, vineyards, and rich woods. The vines 
with their skeleton boughs looked wintry and 
miserable : but the olives, now in full fruit and foli- 



122 JOURNEY TO ROME. 

age, intermixed with the cypress, the ilex, the cork 
tree, and the pine, clothed the landscape with a 
many-tinted robe of verdure. 

While sitting in the open carriage at Spoleto, 
waiting for horses, I saw one of that magnificent 
breed of u milk white steers," for which the banks 
of the CHtumnus have been tamed from all an- 
tiquity, led past me gayly decorated, to be baited 
on a plain without the city. As the noble creature, 
serene and unresisting, paced along, followed by a 
wild, ferocious-looking, and far more brutal rabble, 
I would have given all I possessed to redeem him 
from his tormentors ; but it was in vain. As we 
left the city, we heard his tremendous roar of agony 
and rage echo from the rocks. I stopped my 
ears, and was glad when we were whirled out 
of hearing. The impression left upon my nerves 
by this rencontre, makes me dislike to remember 
Spoleto: yet I believe it is a beautiful and in- 
teresting place. Hannibal, as I recollect, be- 
sieged this city, but was bravely repulsed. I 
could say much more of the scenes and the feel- 
ings of to-day ; but my pencil refuses to mark 
another letter. 

***** 

Dca. 11th, at Clvita Castellan*. 
I could not write a word to-night in the salon, 
because I wished to listen to the conversation of 
two intelligent travellers, who, arriving after us, 



JOURNEY TO ROME. 1 2S 

were obliged to occupy the same apartment. Our 
accommodations here are indeed deplorable alto- 
gether. After studying the geography of my bed, 
and finding no spot thereon, to which Sancho's 
couch of pack-saddles and pummels would not be 
a bed of down in comparison, I ordered a fresh 
fagot on my hearth : they brought me some ink 
in a gally-pot — invisible ink — for I cannot see 
what I am writing ; and I sit down to scribble, 
pour me desennuyer. 

This morning we set off to visit the Falls of 
Terni (La cascata di Marmore) in two carriages 
and four : O such equipages ! — such rat-like steeds ! 
such picturesque accoutrements ! and such poetical 
looking guides and postilions, ragged, cloaked, and 
whiskered ! — but it was all consistent : the wild 
figures harmonized with the wild landscape. We 
passed a singular fortress on the top of a steep in- 
sulated rock, which had formerly been inhabited 
by a band of robbers and their families, who were 
with great difficulty, and after a regular siege, dis- 
lodged by a party of soldiers, and the place dis- 
mantled. In its present ruined state, it has a very 
picturesque effect; and though the presence of 
the banditti would no doubt have added greatly to 
the romance of the scene, on the present occasion 
we excused their absence. 

We visited the falls both above and below, but 
unfortunately we neither saw them from the best 
point of view, nor at the best season. The body 



124 JOURNEY TO ROME. 

of waters is sometimes ten times greater, as I was 
assured — but can scarce believe it possible. Thfl 
words " Hell of waters," used by Lord Byron, 
would not have occurred to me while looking at 
this cataract, which impresses the astonished mind 
with an overwhelming idea of power, might, mag- 
nificence, and impetuosity ; but blends at the same 
time all that is most tremendous in sound and mo- 
tion, with all that is most bright and lovely in 
forms, in colors, and in scenery. 

As I stood close to the edge of the precipice, 
immediately under the great fall, I felt my respira- 
tion gone : I turned giddy, almost faint, and was 
obliged to lean against the rock for support. The 
mad plunge of the waters, the deafening roar, the 
presence of a power which no earthly force could 
resist or control, struck me with an awe, almost 
amounting to terror. A bright sunbow stood over 
the torrent, which, seen from below, has the appear- 
ance of a luminous white arch bending from rock 
to rock. The whole scene was — but how can I say 
what it was ? I have exhausted my stock of fine 
words ; and must be content with silent recollec- 
tions, and the sense of admiration and wonder un- 
expressed. 

Below the fall, an inundation which took place a 
year ago, undermined and carried away part of the 
banks of the Nera, at the same time laying open an 
ancient Roman bridge, which had been buried for 
ages. The channel of the river and the depth of 



JOURNEY TO ROME. 125 

the soil must have been greatly altered since this 
bridge was erected. 

When we returned to the inn at Terni, and 
while the horses were putting to, I took up a vol 
ume of Eustace's tour, which some traveller had 
accidentally left on the table ; and turning to the 
description of Terni, read part of it, but quickly 
threw down the book with indignation, deeming all 
his verbiage the merest nonsense I had ever met 
with : in fact, it is nonsense to attempt to image in 
words an individual scene like this. When we had 
made out our description as accurately as possible, 
it would do as well for any other cataract in the 
world; we can only combine rocks, wood, and 
water, in certain proportions. A good picture may 
give a tolerable idea of a particular scene or land- 
scape : but no picture, no painter, not Ruysdael 
himself, can give a just idea of a cataract. The 
lifeless, silent, unmoving image is there : but where 
is the thundering roar, the terrible velocity, the 
glory of refracted light, the eternity of sound, and 
infinity of motion, in which essentially its effect 
consists ? 

In the valley beneath the Falls of Terni, there 
is a beautiful retired little villa, which was once 
occupied by the late Queen Caroline : and in the 
gardens adjoining it, we gathered oranges from the 
trees ourselves for the first time. After passing 
Mount Soracte, of classical fame, we took leave of 
the Apennines ; having lived amongst them ever 
since we left Bologna. 



126 ROME. 

The costume of this part of the country is very 
gay and picturesque: the women wear a white 
head-dress formed of a square kerchief, which 
hangs down upon the shoulders, and is attached to 
the hair by a silver pin : a boddice half laced, and 
decorated with knots of ribbon, and a short scarlet 
petticoat complete their attire. Between Perugia 
and Terni I did not see one woman without a coral 
necklace ; and those who have the power, load 
themselves with trinkets and ornaments. 

Rome, December 12. 
The morning broke upon us so beautifully be- 
tween Civita Castellana and Nevi, that we lauded 
our good fortune, and anticipated a glorious ap- 
proach to the "Eternal City." We were impa- 
tient to reach the heights of Baccano ; from which, 
at the distance of fifteen miles, we were to view the 
cross of St. Peter's glittering on the horizon, while 
the postilions rising in their stirrups, should point 
forward with exultation, and exclaim " Roma ! " 
But, O vain hope ! who can control their fate ? 
just before we reached Baccano, impenetrable 
clouds enveloped the whole Campagna. The mist 
dissolved into a drizzling rain ; and when we en- 
tered the city, it poured in torrents. Since we left 
England, this is only the third time it has rained 
while we were on the road ; it seems therefore un- 
conscionable to murmur. But to lose the first 
view of Rome ! the first view of the dome of St 



ROME. 127 

Peter's! no — that lost moment wlil never be re- 
trieved through our whole existence. 

We found it difficult to obtain suitable accommo- 
dation for our numerous coHkge^ the Hotel d'Eu- 
rope, and the Bote) de Londrei being quite full: 
and for the present we are rather indifferently 

lodged in the Albergo di ParigL 

So hen: we are, in ROME I where we have been 
for the last five hours, and have not seen an inch 
of the city beyond the dirty pavement of the Via 
Santa Croee ; where an excellent dinner cooked a 
VAnglaiee^ a blazing fire, a drawing-room snugly 
carpeted and curtained, and the rain beating 
against our windows, would almost persuade us 
that we are in London; and <tv<t,ry now and then, 
it is with a kind of surprise that J remind myself 
that I am really in Home. Heaven send us but a 
fine day to-morrow ! 

13. The day arose as beautiful, as brilliant, as 
cloudless, as I could have desired for the first day 
in Rome. About seven o'clock, and before any 
one was ready for breakfast, I walked out ; and 
directing my steps by mere chance to the left, 
found myself in the Piazza di Spagna and oppo- 
site to a gigantic flight of marble stairs leading to 
the top of a hill. I was at the summit in a mo 
Meat ; and breathless and agitated by a thousand 
feelings, I leaned against the obelisk, and looked 
over the whole city. I knew not where I was : 
nor among the crowded mass of buildings, the 



128 ROME. 

innumerable domes and towers, and vanes and 
pinnacles, brightened by the ascending sun, could 
I for a while distinguish a single known object; 
for my eyes and my heart were both too full : but 
in a few minutes mv powers of perception returned ; 
and in the huge round bulk of the castle of St. 
Angelo, and the immense facade and soaring cu- 
pola of St. Peter's, I knew I could not be mistaken. 
I gazed and gazed as if I would have drunk it all 
in at my eyes : and then descending the superb 
flight of steps rather more leisurely than I had 
ascended, I was in a moment at the door of our 
hotel. 

The rest of the day I wish I could forget — I 
found letters from England on the breakfast table — 
* * * * * 

Until dinner time we were driving through the 
narrow dirty streets at the mercy of a stupid laquais 
de place, in search of better accommodations, but 
without success : and, on the whole, I fear I shall 
always remember too well the disagreeable and 
painfal impressions of my first day in Rome. 

Dec. 18. — A week has now elapsed, and I begin 
to know and feel Rome a little better than I did 
The sites of the various buildings, the situations of 
the most interesting objects, and the bearings of 
the principal hills, the Capitol, the Palatine, the 
Aventine, and the JEsquiline, have become familiar 
to me, assisted in my perambulations by an excel* 
Vent plan. I have been disappointed in nothing 



ROME. 129 

tor I expected thai: the general appearance of 
Modern Rome would be mean ; and that the im- 
pression made by the ancient city would be mel- 
ancholy ; and I had been, unfortunately, too well 
prepared, by previous reading, for all I see, to be 
astonished by any thing except the Museum of the 
Vatican. 

I entered St. Peter's expecting to be struck 
dumb with admiration, and accordingly it was so. 
A feeling of vastness filled my whole mind, and 
made it disagreeable, almost impossible to speak 
or exclaim : but it was a style of grandeur, excit- 
ing rather than oppressive to the imagination, nor 
did I experience any thing like that sombre and 
reverential awe I have felt on entering one of our 
Gothic minsters. The interior of St. Peter's is all 
airy magnificence, and gigantic splendor ; light 
and sunshine pouring in on every side; gilding 
and gay colors, marbles and pictures, dazzling 
the eye above, below, around. The effect of the 
whole has not diminished in a second and third 
visit; but rather grows upon me. I can never 
utter a word for the first ten minutes after I enter 
the church. 

For the Museum of the Vatican, I confess 1 
was totally unprepared ; and the first and second 
time I walked through the galleries, I was so 
amazed — so intoxicated, that I could not fix my 
attention upon any individual object, except the 
Apollo, upon which, as T walked along confused 



ISO ROMS. 

wd lost in wonder and enchantment, I stumbled 

accidentally, and stood spell-bound. Gallery be- 
yond gallery, hall within hall, temple within tem- 
ple, new splendors opening at every step; of all 
the creations of luxurious art, the Museum of the 
Vatican may aloue defy any description to do it 
justice, or any fancy to conceive the unimaginable 
variety of its treasures. When I remember that 
the French had the audacious and sacrilegious 
vanity to snatch from these glorious sanctuaries the 
finest specimens of art, and hide them in their vil- 
lanous old gloomy Louvre, I am confounded. 

I have been told and can well believe, that the 
whole (]riro of the galleries exceed two miles. 

I have not yet studied the frescos o^l RatVaelle 
sufficiently to feel all their perfection ; and should 
be in despair at my own dulness, were I not con- 
soled by the recollection of Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
At present, one of RatTaelle's divine Virgins de- 
lights me more than all his eamere and logie to- 
gether ; but I ean look upon them with due ven- 
eration, and grieve to see the ravages of time and 
damp. 

***** 

19. — Last night we took advantage of a bril- 
liant full moon to visit the Coliseum by moon- 
light ; and if I came away disappointed of the 
pleasure I had expected, the fault was not in me 
nor in the scene around me. In its sublime and 
heart-stirring beauty, it more than equalled, it 



HOME. 131 

lurpassed all T had anticipated — but — (there must 
always be a but! always in the realities of this 
world something to disgust ; ) it happened that 
one or two gentlemen joined our party — young 
men too, «nd classical scholars, who perhaps 
thought it fine to affect a well-bred nonchalance, 
a fashionable disdain for all romance and enthusi- 
asm, and amused themselves with quizzing our 
guide, insulting the gloom, the grandeur, and the 
silence around them, with loud impertinent laugh- 
ter at their own poor jokes ; and I was obliged to 
listen, sad and disgusted, to their empty and taste- 
less and misplaced flippancy. The young bare- 
footed friar, with his dark lanthorn, and his black 
eyes flashing from under his cowl, who acted as our 
cicerone, was in picturesque unison with the scene; 
but — more than one murder having lately been 
committed among the labyrinthine recesses of the 
ruin, the government has given orders that every 
person entering after dusk should be attended by a 
guard of two soldiers. These fellows therefore 
necessarily walked close after our heels, smoking, 
spitting, and spluttering German. Such were my 
companions, and such was my cortege. I returned 
home vowing that while I remained at Rome, 
iiothing should induce me to visit the Coliseum by 
moonlight again. 

To-day I was standing before the LaocooB 
with Rogers, who remarked that the absence of 
».ll parental feeling in the aspect of Laocoon, his 



132 ROMS. 

self-engrossed indifference to the sufferings of his 
children (which is noticed and censured, I think, 
by Dr. Moore) adds to the pathos, if properly 
considered, by giving the strongest possible idea of 
that physical agony which the sculptor intended 
to represent It may be so, and I thought there 
was both truth and facte in the poet's observa- 
tion. 

The Perseus of Canova does not please me so 
well as his Paris ; there is more simplicity and re- 
pose in the latter statue, less of that theatrical air 
which I think is the common fault of Canova's 
figures. 

It is absolutely necessary to look at the Perseus 
before you look at the Apollo, in order to do 
the former justice. I have gazed with admira- 
tion at the Perseus for minutes together, then 
walked from it to the Apollo, and felt instanta- 
neously, but could not have expressed, the differ- 
ence. The first is indeed a beautiful statue, the 
latter " breathes the flame with which 'twas 
wrought," as if the sculptor had left a portion of 
his own soul within the marble to half animate his 
glorious creation. The want of this informing life 
is strongly felt in the Perseus, when contemplated 
after the Apollo. It is delightful when the imagi- 
nation rises in the scale of admiration, when we 
ascend from excellence to perfection : but excel, 
lence after perfection is absolute inferiority ; it 
♦inks below itself, and the descent is so disagree 



133 



ubie and disappointing, that we can seldom estimate 
justly the object before us. We make compari- 
sons involuntarily in a case where comparisons 
are odious. 

***** 

The weather is cold here during the prevalence? 
of the tramontana : but I enjoy the brilliant skie? 
and the delicious purity of the air, which leaves 
the eye free to wander over a vast extent of space. 
Looking from the gallery of the Belvedere at sun- 
set this evening, I clearly saw Tivoli, Albano, and 
Frascati, although all Rome and part of the Cam- 
pagna lay between me and those towns. The out- 
lines of every building, ruin, hill, and wood, were 
so distinctly marked, and stood out so brightly to 
the eye ! and the full round moon, magnified 
through the purple vapor which floated over the 
Apennines^ rose just over Tivoli, adding to the 
beauty of the scene. O Italy ! how I wish I 
could transport hither all I love ! how I wish I 
were well enough, happy enough, to enjoy all the 
lovely things I see ! but pain is mingled with all 
I behold, all I feel : a cloud seems forever before 
my eyes, a weight forever presses down my heart. 
I know it is wrong to repine : and that I ought 
rather to be thankful for the pleasurable sensations 
yet spared to me, than lament that they are so 
3ew. When I take up my pen to record the im- 
pressions of the day, j. sometimes turn within my- 
self, and wonder how it is possible that amid the 



134 ROME. 

Itrife of feelings not all subdued, and the despond- 
ing of the heart, the mind should still retain its 
faculties unobscured, and the imagination all its 
vivacity and its susceptibility to pleasure, — tike 
the beautiful sunbow I saw at the Falls of Terni, 
bending so bright and so calm over the verge of 
the abyss which toiled and raged below. 

¥fc yfc flfr v *f 

22. — This morning was devoted to the Capitol, 
where the objects of art are ill arranged and too 
crowded : the lights are not well managed, and on 
the whole I could not help wishing, in spite of 
my veneration for the Capitol, that some at least 
among the divine master-pieces it contains could 
be transferred to the glorious halls of the Vatican, 
and shrined in temples worthy of them. 

The objects which most struck me were the 
dying Gladiator, the Antinous, the Flora, and the 
statue called (I know not on what authority) the 
Faun of Praxiteles. 

The dying Gladiator is the chief boast of the 
Capitol. The antiquarian Nibby insists that this 
statue represents a Gaul, that the sculpture is 
Grecian, that it formed part of a group on a pedi- 
ment, representing the vengeance which Apollo 
took on the Gauls, when, under their king Brennus, 
they attacked the temple of Delphi : that the cord 
round the neck is a twisted chain, an ornament 
peculiar to the Gauls ; and that the form of the 
shield, the bugles, the style of the hair, and th* 



ROME. Ida 

mustachios, all prove it to be a Gaul. I asked, 
" why should such faultless, such exquisite sculp- 
ture be thrown away upon a high pediment V " the 
affecting expression of the countenance, the head 
' bowed low and full of death,' the gradual failure 
of the strength and sinking of the form, the blood 
slowly trickling from his side — how could any 
spectator, contemplating it at a vast height, be 
sensible of these minute traits— the distinguishing 
perfections of this matchless statue ? " It was re- 
plied that many of the ancient buildings were so 
constructed, that it was possible to ascend and ex- 
amine the sculpture above the cornice, and though 
some statues so placed were unfinished at the back, 
(for instance, some of the figures which belonged 
to the group of Niobe,) others (and he mentioned 
the iEgina marbles as an example) were as highly 
finished behind as before. I owned myself un- 
willing to consider the Gladiator a Gaul, but the 
reasoning struck me, and I am too unlearned to 
weigh the arguments he used, much less confute 
them. That the statue being of Grecian marble 
and Grecian sculpture must therefore have come 
from Greece, does not appear a conclusive argu- 
ment, since the Romans commonly employed 
Greek artists : and as to the rest of the argument, 
—suppose that in a dozen centuries hence, the 
\harming statue of Lady Louisa Russell should 
be discovered under the ruins of Woburn Abbey, 
and that by a parity of reasoning, the production 



KU; ROME. 

of Chantrey's chisel should be attributed to Italy 
and Canova, merely because it is cut from a block 
of Carrara marble ? we might smile at such a con- 
clusion. 

Among the pictures in the gallery of the Capi- 
tol, the one most highly valued pleases me least of 
all — the Europa of Paul Veronese. The splendid 
coloring and copious fancy of this master can 
never reconcile me to his strange anomalies in 
composition, and his sins against good taste and 
propriety. One wishes that he had allayed the 
heat of his fancy with some cooling drops of dis- 
cretion. Even his coloring, so admired in gen- 
eral, has something florid and meretricious to my 
eye and taste. 

One of the finest pictures here is Domeni- 
chino's Cumean Sibyl, which, like all other mas- 
terpieces, defies the copyist and engraver. The 
Sibilla Persiea of Guercino hangs a little to the 
left ; and with her contemplative air, and the pen 
in her hand, she looks as if she were recording the 
effusions of her more inspired sister. The former 
is a chaste and beautiful picture, full of feeling 
and sweetly colored ; but the vicinity of Domeni- 
chino's magnificent creation throws it rather into 
shade. Two unfinished pictures upon which 
Guido was employed at the time of his death are 
preserved in the Capitol : one is the Bacchus and 
Ariadne, so often engraved and copied ; the other 

single figure, the size of life, represents the Sou? 



13/ 



of the righteous man ascending to heaven. Had 
Guido lived to finish this divine picture, it would 
have been one of his most splendid productions 
but he was snatched away to realize, I trust, in 
his own person, his sublime conception. The 
head alone is finished, or nca/Iy so; and has a 
most extatic expression. The globe of the earth 
Beema to sink from beneath the floating figure, 
which is just sketched upon the canvas, and has a 
shadowy indistinctness which to my fancy added 
to its effect. Guercino's chef-d'oeuvre, the Res- 
urrection of Saint Petronilla, (a saint, I believe, 
of very hypothetical fame,) is also here ; and has 
been copied in mosaic far St. Peter's. A magnif- 
icent Rubens, the She Wolf nursing Romulus 
and Remus ; a fine copy of Raffaelle's Triumph 
of Galatea by Giulo Romano ; Domenichino's 
Saint Barbara, with the same lovely inspired eyes 
he always gives his female saints, and a long e* 
cetera. 

From the Capitol we immediately drove to the 
Borghese palace, where I spent half an hour look- 
\ng at the picture called the Cumean Sibyl of Do- 
menichino, and am more and more convinced that 
it is a Saint Cecilia and not a Sibyl. 

We have now visited the Borghese palace four 
times ; and apropos to pictures, I may as well 
make a few memoranda of its contents. It is noi 
the most numerous, but it is by far the most valu* 
able and select private gallery in Rome. 



138 ROME. 

Doineniehino's Chase of Diana, with the two 
beautiful nymphs in the foreground, is a splendid 
picture. Titian's Sacred and Profane Love puzzles 
me completely : I neither understand the name nor 
the intention of the picture. It is evidently alle- 
gorical : but an allegory very clumsily expressed. 
The aspect of Sacred Love would answer just as 
well for Profane Love. What is that little Cupid 
about, who is groping in the cistern behind ? why 
does Profane Love wear gloves ? The picture, 
though so provokingly obscure in its subject, is 
most divinely painted. The three Graces by the 
same master is also here ; two heads by Giorgione, 
distinguished by all his peculiar depth of character 
and sentiment, some exquisite Albanos ; one of 
Raffaelle's finest portraits — and in short, an end- 
less variety of excellence. I feel my taste become 
more and more fastidious every day. 

***** 

This morning we heard mass at the Pope's 
Chapel ; the service was read by Cardinal Fesche, 
and the venerable old pope himself, robed and 
mitred en grand costume, was present. No females 
are allowed to enter without veils, and we were 
very ungallantly shut up behind a sort of grating, 
whe*;e, though we had a tolerable view of the cere- 
monial going forward, it was scarcely possible for 
us to be seen. Cardinal Gonsalvi sat so near us. 
that I had leisure and opportunity to contemplate 
the fine intellectual head and acute features of this 



139 



remarkable man. I thought his countenance had 
eomething of the Wellesley cast. 

The Pope's Chapel is decorated in the most ex- 
quisite taste ; splendid at once and chaste. There 
are no colors — the whole interior being white and 
gold. 

At an unfortunate moment, Lady Morgan's 
ludicrous description of the twisting and untwist- 
ing of the Cardinal's tails came across me, and 
made me smile very mal apropos : it is certainly 
from the life. Whenever this lively and clever 
woman describes what she has actually seen with 
her own eyes, she is as accurately true as she is 
witty and entertaining. Her sketches after nature 
are admirable ; but her observations and inferences 
are colored by her peculiar and rather unfeminine 
habits of thinking. I never read her " Italy " till 
the other day, when L., whose valet had contrived 
to smuggle it into Rome, offered to lend it to me. 
It is one of the books most rigorously proscribed 
here ; and if the Padre Anfossi or any of his satel- 
lites had discovered it in my hands, I should as- 
suredly have been fined in a sum beyond what I 
should have liked to pay. 

We concluded the morning at St. Peter's, where 
we arrived in time for the anthem. 

* * * * * 

23. — Our visit to the Barberini palaca to-day 
was solely to view the famous portrait of Beatrice 
Cenci. Her appdllivig story is still as fresh in ic* 



140 ROME. 

membrance here, and her name and fate as fa- 
miliar in the months of every class, as if instead ot 
two centuries, she had lived two days ago. In 
spite of the innumerable copies and prints I have 
seen, I was more struck than I can express by tli8 
dying beauty of the Cenci. In the face, the ex- 
pression of heart-sinking anguish and terror is just 
not too strong, leaving the loveliness of the counte- 
nance unimpaired; and there is a woe-begone 
negligence in the streaming hair and loose drapery 
which adds to its deep pathos. It is consistent too 
with the circumstances under which the picture 
is traditionally said to have been painted — that is, 
in the interval between her torture and her exe- 
cution. 

A little daughter of the Princess Barberini was 
seated in the same room, knitting. She was a 
beautiful little creature ; and as my eye glanced 
from her to the picture and back again. 1 fancied 
I could trace a strong family resemblance ; par- 
ticularly about the eyes, and the very peculiar 
mouth. 1 turned back to ask her whether she had 
ever been told that she was like that picture ? 
pointing to the Cenci. She shook back her long 
surk, and answered with a blush and a smile, 
" yes, often." * 

* The family of the Cenci was a branch of the house of Co- 
jonua, now extinct in the direct male line. The last Prince Co- 
tonna left two daughters, co-hehvsse.*, of whom one married the 
Prince Sciarra, aud the other the Prince Barberini. In thii 



141 



The Barberini palace contains other treasures 
beside the Cenci. Poussin's celebrated picture of 
the Death of Germanicus, RafFaelle's Fornarina, 
inferior I thought to the one at Florence, and a 
St. Andrew by Guido, in his very best style of 
heads, "mild, pale, and penetrating;" besides 
others which I cannot at this moment recall. 
* * * * * 

24. — Yesterday, after chapel, I walked through 
part of the Vatican ; and then, about vesper-time, 
entered St. Peter's, expecting to hear the anthem : 
but I was disappointed. I found the church as 
usual crowded with English, who every Sunday 
convert St. Peter's into a kind of Hyde Park, 
where they promenade arm in arm, show off their 
finery, laugh, and talk aloud : as if the size and 
splendor of the edifice detracted in any degree 
from its sacred character. I was struck with a 
feeling of disgust ; and shocked to see this mos 
glorious temple of the Deity metamorphosed into 
a mere theatre. Mr. W. told me this morning, 
that in consequence of the shameful conduct of 
the English, in pressing in and out of the chapel, 
occupying all the seats, irreverently interrupting 
the service, and almost excluding the natives, the 
anthem will not be sung in future. 



manner the portrait of Beatrice Cenci came into the Barberini 
Simily. The authenticity of this interesting picture has been 
disputed: but last night after hearing the point extremely well 
contested by two intelligent men. 1 remained convinced of ita 
authenticity. 



142 



ROME. 



This is not the first time that the behavior of 
flie English has created offence, in spite of the 
friendly feeling which exists towards us, and the 
allowances which are made for our national char- 
acter. Last year the pope objected to the in- 
decent custom of making St. Peter's a place of 
fashionable rendezvous, and notified to Cardinal 
Gonsalvi his desire that English ladies and gentle- 
men should not be seen arm in arm walking up 
and down the aisles, during and after divine ser- 
vice. The cardinal, as the best means of pro- 
ceeding, spoke to the Duchess of Devonshire, who 
signified the wishes of the Papal Court to a large 
party, assembled at her house. The hint so ju- 
diciously and so delicately given, was at the time 
attended to, and during a short interval the offence 
complained of ceased. New comers have since re- 
commenced the same course of conduct : and in 
fact, nothing could be worse than the exhibition of 
gayety and frivolity, gallantry and coquetterie at 
St. Peter's yesterday. I almost wish the pope may 
interfere, and with rigor ; though, individually, I 
should lose a high gratification, if our visits to St, 
Peter's were interdicted. It is surely most ill 
judged and unfeeling, (to say nothing of the prof- 
anation, for such it is,) to show such open con- 
tempt for the Roman Catholic religion in its holiest, 
grandest temple, and under the very eyes of the 
head of that church. I blushed for my country- 



145 



On Christmas Eve we went in a large party to 
visit some of the principal churches, and witness 
the celebration of the Nativity ; one of the most 
splendid ceremonies of the Romish Church. We 
arrived at the chapel of Monte Cavallo about half- 
past nine : but the pope being ill and absent, noth- 
ing particular was going forward ; and we left it 
to proceed to the San Luigi dei Francesi, where 
we found the church hung from the floor to the 
ceiling with garlands of flowers, blazing with light, 
and resounding with heavenly music : but the 
crowd was intolerable, the people dirty, and there 
was such an effluence of strong perfumes, in which 
garlic predominated, that our physical sensations 
overcame our curiosity : and we were glad to make 
our escape. We then proceeded to the church of 
the Ara Celi, built on the site of the temple of Ju- 
piter Capitolinus, and partly from its ruins. The 
scene here from the gloomy grandeur and situation 
of the church, was exceedingly fine : but we did 
not stay long enough to see the concluding pro- 
cession, as we were told it would be much finer at 
the Santa Maria Maggiore ; for there the real 
manger which had received our Saviour at his 
birth was deposited : and this inestimable relic was 
to be displayed to the eyes of the devout : and 
with a waxen figure laid within, (called here II 
Bambino,) was to be carried in procession round 
the church, " with pomp, with music, and with 
triumphing." 



!4£ ROME. 

The real cradle was a temptation not to be with 
stood : and to witness this signal prostration of the 
human intellect before ignorant and crafty super- 
stition, we adjourned to the Santa Maria Maggiore. 
For processions and shows I care very little, but not 
for any thing, not for all I suffered at the moment, 
would I have missed the scene which the interior 
of the church exhibited ; for it is impossible that 
any description could have given me the faintest 
idea of it. This most noble edifice, with its perfect 
proportions, its elegant Ionic columns, and its ma- 
jestic simplicity, appeared transformed, for the 
time being, into the temple of some Pagan divinity. 
Lights and flowers, incense and music, were all 
around : and the spacious aisles were crowded with 
the lowest classes of the people, the inhabitants of 
the neighboring hills, and the peasantry of the 
Campagna, who, with their wild ruffian-like fig- 
ures and picturesque costumes, were lounging 
about, or seated at the bases of pillars, or praying 
before the altars. How I wished to paint some of 
the groups I saw ! but only Rembrandt could have 
done them justice. 

We remained at the Santa Maria Maggiore till 
four o'clock, and no procession appearing, our pa- 
tience was exhausted. I nearly fainted on my 
chair from excessive fatigue ; and some of our 
party had absolutely laid themselves down on the 
steps of an altar, and were fast asleep ; we there- 
fore returned home, completely knocked up by the 
night's dissipation. 



ROME. 145 

27. — " Come," said L. just now, as he drew his 
chair to the fire, and rubbed his hands with great 
complacency, " I think we've worked pretty hard 
to-day ; three palaces, four churches — besides odds 
and ends of ruins we dispatched in the way : to 
Bay nothing of old Nibby's lectures in the morning 
about the Voices, the Saturnines, the Albanians, 
and the other old Romans — by Jove ! I almost 
fancied myself at school again 

'Armis vitrumque ccmter, 

as old Virgil or somebody else says. So now let's 
have a little ecarte to put it all out of our heads : 
— for my brains have turned round like a windmill, 
by Jove ! ever since I was on the top of that cursed 
steeple on the capitol," &c, &c. 

I make a resolution to myself every morning 
before breakfast, that I will be prepared with a 
decent stock of good-nature and forbearance, and 
not laugh at my friend L.'s absurdities ; but in 
vain are my amiable intentions : his blunders and 
his follies surpass all anticipation, as they defy all 
powers of gravity. I console myself with the con- 
viction that such is his slowness of perception he 
does not see that he is the butt of every party ; and 
Buch his obtuseness of feeling, that if he did see it, 
he would not mind it ; but he is the heir to twenty- 
five thousand a year, and therefore, as K. said, he 
can afford to be laughed at. 

We " dispatched," as L. says, a good deal to- 
10 



l4tS HOME. 

day, though I did not " work quite so hard " as 
me rest of the party : in fact, I was obliged to 
return home from fatigue, after having visited the 
Doria and Sciarra Palaces, (the last for the second 
time,) and the church of San Pietro in Vincoli. 

The Doria Palace contains the largest collection 
of pictures in Rome : but they are in a dirty and 
neglected condition, and many of the best are 
hung in the worst possible light: added to this 
there is such a number of bad and indifferent pic- 
tures, that one ought to visit the Doria Gallery 
half a dozen times merely to select those on which 
a cultivated taste would dwell with pleasure. 
Leonardo da Vinci's portrait of Joanna of Naples, 
is considered one of the most valuable pictures in 
the collection. It exhibits the same cast of coun- 
tenance which prevails through all his female 
heads, a sort of sentimental simpering affectation 
which is very disagreeable, and not at all consist- 
ent with the character of Joanna. I was much 
more delighted by some magnificent portraits by 
Titian and Rubens ; and by a copy of the famous 
antique picture, the Nozze Aldobrandini, executed 
in a kindred spirit by the classic pencil of Poussin. 

The collection at the Sciarra Palace is small 
but very select. The pictures are hung with judg- 
ment, and well taken care of. The Magdalen 
which is considered one of Guido's masterpieces, 
charmed me most : the countenance is heavenly ■ 
though full of extatic and devout contemplation, 



ROME. 147 

there is in it a touch of melancholy, " all sorrow's 
softness charmed from its despair," which is quite 
exquisite : and the attitude, and particularly the 
turn of the arm, are perfectly graceful : but why 
those odious turnips and carrots in the fore-ground ? 
They certainly do not add to the sentiment and 
beauty of the picture. Leonardo da Vinci's 
Vanity and Modesty, and Caravaggio's Gamblers, 
both celebrated pictures in very different styles, 
are in this collection. I ought not to forget Raf 
faelle's beautiful portrait of a young musician who 
was his intimate friend. The Doria and Sciarra 
palaces contain the only Claudes I have seen in 
Rome. Since the acquisition of the Altieri 
Claudes, we may boast of possessing the finest 
productions of this master in England. I remem- 
ber but one solitary Claude in the Florentine gal- 
lery ; and I see none here equal to those at Lord 
Grosvenor's and Angerstein's. We visited the 
church of San Pietro in Vincoli, to see Michel 
Angelo's famous statue of Moses, — of which, who 
has not heard ? I must confess I never was so 
disappointed by any work of art as I was by this 
statue, which is easily accounted for. In the first 
place, I had not seen any model or copy of the 
original; and, secondly, I had read Zappi's sub- 
lime sonnet, which I humbly conceive does rathei 
more than justice to its subject The fine open 
tag-- 

" Chi e costui che in dura pietra scolto 

Siede Gigcmte " — 



148 ROME. 

gave me the Impression of a colossal and elevated 
figure : my surprise, therefore, was great to see a 
Bitting statue, not much larger than life, and placed 
nearly on the level of the pavement ; so that in- 
stead of looking up at it, I almost looked down 
upon it. The " Doppio raggio in fronte," I found 
in the shape of a pair of horns, which, at the first 
glance, gave something quite Satanic to the head, 
which disgusted me. When I began to recover 
from this first disappointment — although my eyes 
were opened gradually to the sublimity of the 
attitude, the grand forms of the drapery, and the 
lips, which unclose as if about to speak — I still 
think that Zappi's sonnet (his acknowledged chef- 
d'oeuvre) is a more sublime production than the 
chef-d'oeuvre it celebrates. 

The mention of Zappi reminds me of his wife, 
the daughter of Carlo Maratti, the painter. She 
was so beautiful that she was her father's favorite 
model for his Nymphs, Madonnas, and Vestal 
Virgins ; and to her charms she added virtue, and 
to her virtue uncommon musical and literary 
talents. Among her poems, there is a sonnet ad- 
dressed to a lady, once beloved by her husband 
beginning 

" Donna! che tanto al mio sol piacesti," 

which is one of the most graceful, most feeling, 
most delicate compositions I ever read. Zappi 
celebrates his beautiful wife under the name of 



ROME. 149 

Clori, and his first mistress uader that of Filli : 
to the latter he has addressed a sonnet, which turna 
on the same thought as Cowley's well-known song, 
" Love in thine eyes." As they both lived about 
the same time, it would be hard to tell which of 
the two borrowed from the other ; probably they 
were both borrowers from some elder poet. 

The characteristics of Zappi's style, are tender- 
ness and elegance : he occasionally rises to sub- 
limity ; as in the sonnet on the Statue of Moses, 
and that on Good Friday. He never emulates 
the flights of Guido or Filicaja, but he is more 
uniformly graceful and flowing than either: his 
happy thoughts are not spun out too *%» —and his 
points are seldom mere concetti. 



SONETTO. 
DI GIAMBATTISTA ZAPPI. 

Amor s'asside alia mia FiHi accanto, 
Amor la segue ovunque i passi gira : 
In lei parla, in lei tace, in lei sospira, 
Anzi in lei vive, ond'ella ed ei pu6 tanto 

Amore i vezzi, amor le insepia il canto; 
E se mai duolsi, o se pur mai s' adira, 
Da lei non parte amor, anzi se mira 
Amor ne le belle ire, amor nel pianto.. 

Se awien che dar.zi in regolato errore, 
Darle il moto al bel piede, amor riveggio 
Come l'auretto quando rauove un fiore. 



150 ROME. 

Le veggio in fronte amor come in suo seggio, 
Snl crin, negli occhi, su le labbra amore, 
Sol d'intorno al suo cuore, amor non veggio. 



rRANSLATION, EXTEMPORE, OF THE FOREGOING 
SONNET. 

Love, by my fair one's side is ever seen, 
He hovers round ber steps, where'er she strays, 
Breathes in her voice, and in her silence speaks, 
Around her lives, and lends her all his arms. 

Love is in every glance — Love taught her song; 
And if she weep, or scorn contract her brow, 
Still Love departs not from her, but is seen 
Even in her lovely anger and her tears. 

When, in the mazy dance she glides along, 
Still Love is near to poise each graceful step : 
So breathes the zephyr o'er the yielding flower. 

Love in her brow is throned, plays in her hair, 
Darts from her eye and glows upon her lip, 
But, oh ! he never yet approached her heart. 

After being confined to the house for three days, 
partly by indisposition, and partly by a vile sirocco, 
which brought, as usual, vapors, clouds, and blue 
devils in its train — this most lovely day tempted 
toe out ; and I walked with V. over the Monte 
Cavallo to the Forum of Trajan. After admiring 
the view from the summit of the pillar, we went on 



ROME. 151 

owards the Capitol, which presented a singular 
«cene : the square and street in front, as well as 
ihe immense flight of steps, one hundred and fifty 
;n number, which lead to the church of the Ara 
Celi, were crowded with men, women, and chil- 
dren, all in their holiday dresses. It was with 
difficulty we made our way through them, though 
they very civilly made way for us, and we were 
nearly a quarter of an hour mounting the steps, so 
dense was the multitude ascending and descend- 
ing, some on their hands and knees out of 
extra-devotion. At last we reached the door of 
the church, where we understood, from the ex- 
clamations and gesticulations of those of whom we 
inquired, something extraordinary was to be seen. 
On one side of the entrance was a puppet show, 
on the other, a band of musicians, playing " Di 
tanti palpati." The interior of the church was 
crowded to suffocation ; and all in darkness, except 
the upper end, where, upon a stage brilliantly and 
very artificially lighted by unseen lamps, there 
was an exhibition in wax-work, as large as life, of 
the Adoration of the Shepherds. The Virgin was 
habited in the court dress of the last century, as 
rich as silk and satin, gold lace, and paste diamonds 
could make it, with a flaxen wig, and high-heeled 
shoes. The infant Saviour lay in her lap, his 
head encircled with rays of gilt wire, at least two 
yards long. The shepherds were very well done, 
~ut tli«? sheep and dogs oest of all ; I believe they 



152 ROME. 

weru the real animals stuffed. There was a distant 
landscape seen between the pasteboard trees which 
was well painted, and from the artful disposition of 
the light and perspective, was almost a deception — ■ 
but by a blunder veiy consistent with the rest of 
the show, it represented a part of the Campagna 
of Rome. Above all was a profane representation 
of that Being, whom I dare scarcely allude to, in 
conjunction with such preposterous vanities, encir- 
cled with saints, angels, and clouds : the whole got 
up very like a scene in a pantomime, and accompa- 
nied by music from a concealed orchestra, which 
was intended, I believe, to be sacred music, but 
sounded to me like some of Rossini's airs. In 
front of the stage there was a narrow passage 
divided off, admitting one person at a time, through 
which a continued file of persons moved along, 
who threw down their contributions as they passed, 
bowing and crossing themselves with great devo- 
tion. It would be impossible to describe the 
ecstasies of the multitude, the lifting up of hands 
and eyes, the string of superlatives — the bellissi- 
mos, santissimos, gloriosissimos, and maravigliosissi- 
mos, with which they expressed their applause and 
delight. I stood in the background of this strange 
scene, supported on one of the long-legged chairs 
which V** placed for me against a pillar, at once 
amazed, diverted, and disgusted by this display of 
profaneness and superstition, till the heat and 
crowd overcame me, and I was obliged to leave th« 



BOMB. 

eburch. J shall neve? c^rtamlj' flbfgjet the " Bam- 
bino " of the Ara OeE : for though the exhibition J 
taw afterwards at die San Ltrij 
look at. Domenichmo'f fine piettm ) pawed 

what. I have just described, it did not so much sur- 

. me. Something in the lame style is exhibited 

in almost every church, between Christmas day 

and the Epiphany. 

Daring our examination of Trajan'- Forurn to* 
day, I learnt nothing ne rt that Trajan 

levelled part of the Qotrina] to make room for it 
The ground baring lately been cleared to the 
depth of about twelve feet, part of the ancient 
pavement has been discovered, and many frag- 
ment/-, of column let upright : pieces of frieze and 
broken capital! are pcattered about. The pillar, 
which is HOW cleared to the base, standi in its orig- 
inal place, but not, as it i ginal 
level, for (he Roman* generally raised the substruc- 
ture of their buildings, in order to give them a 
more commanding appearance. The antiquarians 
here are of opinion that both the pavement of the 
iiasilica and the base of the pillar were raised 
above the level of the ancient street, and that 
there is a flight of steps, still concealed, between 
the pillar and the pavement in front. The famous 
Ulpian Library was on each side of the Basilica, 
and the Forum differed from other Forums in not 
being an open space surrounded by buildings, but 
^ building surrounded by an open space. 



154 ROME. 



Dec. 31. — Jan. 1. — That hour in which we paw 
from one year to another, and begin a new account 
with ourselves, with our fellow-creatures, and with 
God, must surely bring some solemn and serious 
thoughts to the bosoms of the most happy and most 
unreflecting among the trifles on this earth. What 
then must it be to me ? The first hour, the first 
moment of the expiring year was spent in tears, in 
distress, in bitterness of heart — as it began so it 
ends. Days, and weeks, and months, and seasons, 
came and " passed like visions to their viewless 
home," and brought no change. Through the 
compass of the whole year I have not enjoyed one 
single day — I will not say of happiness — but of 
health and peace ; and what I have endured has 
left me little to learn in the way of suffering. 
Would to Heaven that as the latest minutes now 
ebb away while I write, memory might also pass 
away ! Would to Heaven that I could efface the 
last year from the series of time, hide it from myself, 
bury it in oblivion, stamp it into annihilation, that 
none of its dreary moments might ever rise up 
again to haunt me, like spectres of pain and dis- 
may ! But this is wrong — I feel it is — and I 
repent, I recall my wish. That great Being, to 
whom the life of a human creature is a mere point, 
but who has bestowed on his creatures such capaci- 
ties of feeling and suffering, as extend momenta to 
hours, and days to years, inflicts nothing in vain, 



ROME. 155 

and if I have suffered much, I have also learned 
much. Now the last hour is past — another yea* 
opens : may it bring to those I love all I wish them 
in my heart ! to me it can bring nothing. The 
only blessing I hope from time is forgetfulness ! my 
only prayer to heaven is — rest, rest, rest ! 

***** 

Jan. 4. — We dispatched, as L* * would say, a 
good deal to-day : we visited the Temple of Vesta, 
the Church of Santa Maria in Cosmadino, the 
Temple of Fortune, the Ponte Rotto, and the house 
of Nicolo Rienzi : all these lie together in a dirty, 
low, and disagreeable part of Rome. Thence we 
drove to the Pyramid of Caius Cestus. As we 
know nothing of this Caius Cestus, but that he 
lived, died, and was buried, it is not possible to 
attach any fanciful or classical interest to his tomb, 
but it is an object of so much beauty in itself, and 
from its situation so striking and picturesque, that 
it needs no additional interest. It is close to the 
ancient walls of Rome, which stretch on either side 
as far as the eye can reach in huge and broken 
masses of brick- work, fragments of battlements and 
buttresses, overgrown in many parts with shrubs, 
and even trees. Around the base of the Pyramid 
lies the burying-ground of strangers and heretics. 
Many of the monuments are elegant, and their frail 
materials and diminutive forms are in affecting 
contrast with the lofty and solid pile which towera 
above them. The tombs lie around in a smal' 



156 ROME. 

space " amicably close," like brothers in exile, and 
as I gazed I felt a kindred feeling with all ; for I 
too am a wanderer, a stranger, and a heretic ; and 
it is probable that my place of rest may be among 
them. Be it so ! for methinks this earth could not 
afford a more lovely, a more tranquil, or more 
sacred spot. I remarked one tomb, which is an 
exact model, and in the same material with the 
sarcophagus of Cornelius Scipio, in the Vatican. 
One small slab of white marble bore the name of a 
young girl, an only child, who died at sixteen, and 
" left her parents disconsolate : " another elegant 
and simple monument bore the name of a young 
painter of genius and promise, and was erected 
" by his companions and fellow-students as a testi- 
mony of their affectionate admiration and regret." 1 
This part of old Rome is beautiful beyond descrip* 
tion, and has a wild, desolate, and poetical grandeur, 
which affects the imagination like a dream. The 
very air disposes one to reverie. I am not sur- 
prised that Poussin, Claude, and Salvator Rosa 
made this part of Rome a favorite haunt, and 
studied here their finest effects of color, and their 
grandest combinations of landscape. I saw a young 
artist seated on a pile of ruins with his sketch book 
open on his knee, and his pencil in his hand — dur- 
ing the whole time we were there he never changed 
his attitude, nor put his pencil to the paper, but 
remained leaning on his elbow, like one lost in 
ecstasy. 



ROME. 15? 

Jan. 5. — To-day we drove through the quarter 
of the Jews, called the Ghetta degli Ebrei. It is a 
long street enclosed at each end with a strong 
iron gate, which is locked by the police at a cer- 
tain hour every evening ; (I believe at 10 o'clock ;) 
and any Jew found without its precincts after that 
time, is liable to punishment and a heavy fine 
The street is narrow and dirty, the houses wretched 
and ruinous, and the appearance of the inhabitants 
squalid, filthy, and miserable — on the whole, it was 
a painful scene, and one I should have avoided, had 
I followed my own inclinations. If this specimen 
of the effects of superstition and ignorance was 
depressing, the next was not less ridiculous. We 
drove to the Lateran : I had frequently visited this 
noble Basilica before, but on the present occasion, 
we were to go over it in form, with the usual tor- 
ments of laquais and ciceroni. I saw nothing new 
but the cloisters, which remain exactly as in the 
time of Constantine. They are in the very vilest 
style of architecture, and decorated with Mosaic 
in a very elaborate manner : but what most amused 
us was the collection of relics, said to have been 
brought by Constantine from the Holy Land, and 
which our cicerone exhibited with a sneering 
solemnity which made it very doubtful whether he 
believed himself in their miraculous sanctity. 
5Jere is the stone on which the cock was perched 
wnen it crowed to St. Teter, and a pillar trom Van 
Temple of Jerusalem, split asunder at the time of 



158 ROME. 

the crucifixion ; it looks as if it had been sawed 
very accurately in half from top to bottom ; but 
this of course only renders it more miraculous. 
Here is also the column in front of Pilate's house, 
to which our Saviour was bound, and the very 
well where he met the woman of Samaria. All 
these, and various other relics, supposed to be con- 
secrated by our Saviour's Passion, are carelessly 
thrown into the cloisters — not so the heads of St 
Peter and St. Paul, which are considered as the 
chief treasures in the Lateran, and are deposited 
in the body of the church in a rich shrine. The 
beautiful sarcophagus of red porphyry, which once 
stood in the portico of the Pantheon, and contained 
the ashes of Agrippa, is now in the Corsini chapel 
here, and encloses the remains of some Pope 
Clement. The bronze equestrian statue of Mar- 
cus Aurelius, which stands on the Capitol, was dug 
from the cloisters of the Lateran. The statue of 
Constantine in the portico was found in the baths 
of Constantine : it is in a style of sculpture worthy 
the architecture of the cloisters. Constantine 
was the first Christian emperor, a glory which has 
served to cover a multitude of sins : it is indeed 
impossible to forget that he was the chosen instru- 
ment of a great and blessed revolution, tmt in 
other respects it is as impossible to look back to the 
period of Constantine without horror — an era 
when bloodshed and barbarism, and the general 



ROUE. 15S 

iepravlty of morals and taste sesmed to have 
reached their climax. 

On leaving the Lateran, we walked to the Scala 
Santa, said to be the very flight of steps which led 
to the judgment hall at Jerusalem, and transported 
hither by the Emperor Constantine ; but while the 
other relics winch his pious benevolence bestowed 
on the city of' Rome have apparently lost some of 
their efficacy, the Seala Santa is still regarded with 
the most devout veneration. At the moment of 
our approach, an elegant barouche drove up to the 
portico, from which two well-dressed women 
alighted, and pulling out their rosaries, began to 
crawl up the stairs on their hands and knees, re- 
peating a Paternoster and an Ave Maria on every 
step. A poor diseased beggar had just gone up 
before them, and was a few steps in advance. Thia 
exercise, as we are assured, purchases a thousand 
years of indulgence. The morning was concluded 
by a walk on the Monte Pincio. 

I did not know on that first morning after our 
arrival, when I ran up the Scala della Trinita to 
the top of the Pincian hill, and looked around me 
with such transport, that I stood by mere chance 
on that very spot from which Claude used to study 
his sun-sets, and his beautiful effects of evening. 
His house was close to me on the left, and those of 
Nicolo Poussin and Salvator Rosa a little beyond. 
Since they have been pointed out to me, I never 
pass from the Monte Pincio along the Via Felic* 



160 KOME. 

without looking up at them with interest : such 
power has genius, " to hallow in the core of human 
hearts even the ruin of a wall." 

***** 

Jan. 6 — Sunday, at the English chapel, which 
was crowded to excess, and where it was at once 
cold and suffocating. We had a plain but excel- 
lent sermon, and the officiating clergyman, Mr. W., 
exhorted the congregation to conduct themselves 
with more decorum at St. Peter's and to remember 
what was due to the temple of that God who was 
equally the God of all Christians. We afterwards 
went to St. Peter's ; where the anthem was per- 
formed at vespers as usual, and the tenor of the 
Argentino sung. The music was indeed heavenly 
— but I did not enjoy it : for though the behavior 
of the English was much more decent than I have 
yet seen it, the crowd round the chapel, the talk- 
ing, pushing, whispering, and movement, were 
enough to disquiet and discomfort me : I withdrew, 
therefore, and walked about at a little distance, 
where I could just hear the swell of the organ. 
Such is the immensity of the building, that at the 
other side of the aisle the music is perfectly in- 
audible. 

7. — Visited the Falconieri Palace to see Cardinal 
Vesehe's gallery. The collection is large, and con- 
tains many fine pictures, but there is such a 
melange of good, bad, and indifferent, that on the 
whole I was disappointed. L* * attached himsel/ 



UO.MI-.. 161 

to my side the whole morning — to benefit, as he 

Hai'J, by my " tasty remark:-; : " be bung M dread- 
fully heavy on my hand-;, and I v.a, BO confounded 
by the interpretation-; and explanation.-; fait igno- 
rance required, that I at last found rny patience 
nearly at an end. Pity he if :-.o good-natured and 
good-tempered, that one can neither have the com- 
fort of heartily disliking him, nor find nor make 
the shadow of an excuse to shake him off! 

In the evening we had a gay party of English 
tnd foreigner! \ among them 



k REPLY TO A COMPLAINT. 

Trust not the ready smile ! 

''J ;•-. a delnthre glow — 
For cold and dark the while 

The spirits flag below. 

With a beam of departed joy, 
The eye may kindle yet : 

As the cloud in yon wintry sky, 
Still glows with the sun that is e 

The cloud will vanish away — 
The sun will shine to-morrow— 

To me shall break no day 
On this dull night of sorrow I 

11 



162 ROME. 



A BEPLY TO A REPROACH. 

I Would not that the world should know, 
How deep within my panting heart 

A thousand warmer feelings glow, 
Than word or look could e'er impart 

I would not that the world should gues* 
At aught beyond this outward show; 

What happy dreams in secret bless — 
What burning tears in secret flow. 

And let them deem me cold or vain; 

— there is one who thinks not so ! 
In one devoted heart I reign, 

And what is all the rest below ! 



9. — We have had two days of truly English 
weather ; cold, damp, and gloomy, with storms of 
wind and rain. I know not why, but there ia 
something peculiarly deforming and discordant in 
bad weather here ; and we are all rather stupid 
and depressed. To me, sunshine and warmth are 
substitutes for health and spirits ; and their ab- 
sence inflicts positive suffering. There is not a 
Bingle room in our palazzetto which is weather- 
proof; and as to a good fire, it is a luxury un- 
known, but not unnecessary, in these regions. In 
such apartments as contain no fire-place, a stufa or 
portable stove is set, which diffuses little warmth 



ROME. 163 

and renders the air insupportably close and suf- 
focating. 

I witnessed a scene last night, which was a good 
illustration of that extraordinary indolence for 
which the Romans are remarkable. Our laquais 
Camillo suffered himself to be turned off, rather 
Shan put wood on the fire three times a day ; he 
would rather, he said, " starve in the streets than 
Dreak his back by carrying burdens like an ass ; 
and though he was miserable to displease the 
Onoratissimo Padrone, his first duty was to take 
care of his own health, which, with the blessing of 

the saints, he was determined to do.'' R 

threw him his wages, repeating with great contempt 
the, only word of his long speech he understood, 
" Asino ! " " Sono Romano, io," replied the fel- 
low, drawing himself up with dignity. He took his 
wages, however, and marched out of the house. 

The impertinence of this Camillo was sometimes 
amusing, but oftener provoking. He piqued him- 
self on being a profound antiquarian, would con- 
fute Nibby, and carried Nardini in his pocket, to 
whom he referred on all occasions ; yet the other 
day he had the impudence to assure us that Caius 
Cestus was an English Protestant, who was ex- 
communicated by Pope Julius Caesar ; and took 
his Nardini out of his pocket to prove his asser- 
tion. 

V brought me to-day the " Souvenirs de 

Felicie," of Madame de Genlis, which amused me 



164 HOME. 

delightfully for a few hours. They contain many 
truths, many half or whole falsehoods, many im- 
pertinent things, and several very interesting anec- 
dotes. They are written with all the graceful 
simplicity of style, and in that tone of lady-like 
feeling which distinguishes whatever she writes : 
but it is clear that though she represents these 
-* Souvenirs " as mere extracts from her journal, 
<*hey have been carefully composed or re-com- 
sosed for publication, and were always intended to 
*e seen. Now if my poor little Diary should 
wer be seen ! I tremble but to think of it ! — what 
a^otism and vanity, what discontent — repining — 
caprice — should I be accused of? — neither per- 
haps have I always been just to others; quand on 
sent, on reflec~h.it rarement. Such strange vicisi- 
tudes of temper — such opposite extremes of think- 
ing and feeling, written down at the moment, 
without noticing the intervening links of circum- 
stances and impressions which led to them, would 
appear like detraction, if they should meet the 
eye of any indifferent person — but I think I have 
taken sufficient precautions against the possibility 
of such an exposure, and the only eyes which will 
ever glance over this blotted page, when the hand 
that writes it is cold, will read, not to criticize but 
to sympathize. 

10. — A lovely brilliant day, the sky without a 
cloud and the air as soft as summer. The car- 
riages Were ordered immediately after breakfast, 



KOME. 165 

and we sallied forth in high spirits — resolved, aa 
L * * said, with his usual felicitous applicatioo of 
Shakspeare, 

To take the tide in the affairs of men. 

The baths of Titus are on the iEsquiline ; and noth- 
ing remains of them but piles of brickwork, and 
a few subterranean chambers almost choked with 
rubbish. Some fragments of exquisite arabesque 
painting are visible on the ceilings and walls ; and 
the gilding and colors are still fresh and bright. 
The brickwork is perfectly solid and firm, and ap- 
peared as if finished yesterday. On the whole, 
the impression on my mind was, that not the slow 
and gentle hand of time, but sudden rapine and 
violence had caused the devastation around us; 
and looking into Nardini on my ieturn, I found 
that the baths of Titus were nearly entire in the 
thirteenth century, but were demolished with 
great labor and difficulty by the ferocious Senator 
Brancaleone, who, about the year 1257, destroyed 
an infinite number of ancient edifices, " per togliere 
,ii Nobili il modo di fortificarsi." The ruins were 
excavated during the pontificate of Julius the 
Second, and under the direction of Raffaelle, who 
is supposed to have taken the idea of the arabesques 
*n the Loggie of the Yatican, from the paintings 
here. We were shown the niche in which the 
Laocoon stood, when, it was discovered in 1502. 



166 ROME. 

After leaving the baths, we entered the neighbor- 
ing church of San Pietro in Yincoli, to look again 
at the beautiful fluted Doric columns which once 
adorned the splendid edifice of Titus : and on this 
occasion we were shown the chest in which the fet- 
ters of St. Peter are preserved in a triple enclosure 
of iron, wood, and silver. My unreasonable curi- 
osity not being satisfied by looking at the mere 
outside of this sacred coffer, I turned to the monk 
who exhibited it, and civilly requested that he 
would open it, and show us the miraculous treasure 
it contained. The poor man looked absolutely 
astounded and aghast at the audacity of my request, 
and stammered out, that the coffer was never 
opened, without a written order from his holiness 
the pope, and in the presence of a cardinal, and, 
that this favor was never granted to a heretic, (con 
rispetto parlando ;) and with this excuse we were 
obliged to be satisfied. 

The church of San Martino del Monte is built 
on part of the substructure of the baths of Titus ; 
and there is a door opening from the church, by 
which you descend into the ancient subterranean 
vaults. The small, but exquisite pillars, and the 
pavement, which is of the richest marbles, were 
brought from the Villa of Adrian at Tivoh. The 
walls were painted in fresco by Nicolo and Gaspar 
Poussin, and were once a celebrated study for 
young landscape painters; almost every vestige 
of coloring is now obliterated by the damp whick 



ROME. 167 

Btreams down the walls. There are some excellent 
modern pictures in good preservation, I think by 
Carluccio. This church, though not large, is one 
of the most magnificent we have yet seen, and the 
most precious materials are lavished in profusion on 
every part. The body of Cardinal Tomasi is 
preserved here, embalmed in a glass case. It 
is exhibited conspicuously, and in my life I never 
saw (or smelt) any thing so abominable and dis- 
gusting. 

The rest of the morning was spent in the 
Vatican. 

I stood to-day for some time between those two 
great masterpieces, the Transfiguration of Raf- 
faelle, and Domenichino's Communion of St. Je- 
rome. I studied them, I examined them figure by 
figure, and then in the ensemble, and mused upon 
the different effect they produce, and were de- 
signed to produce, until I thought I could decide 
to my own satisfaction on their respective merits. 
I am not ignorant that the Transfiguration is pro- 
nounced the " grandest picture in the world," nor 
so insensible to excellence as to regard this glo- 
rious composition without all the admiration due to 
. t. I am dazzled by the flood of light which bursts 
irom the opening heavens above, and affected by 
the dramatic interest of the group below. What 
splendor of color ! What variety of expression 
What masterly grouping of the heads ! I see all 
thia — but to me Raffaelle's picture wants unity of 



168 ROME. 

interest : it is two pictures in one ; the demoniac 
boy in the foreground always shocks me ; and thus, 
from my peculiarity of taste, the pleasure it gives 
me is not so perfect as it ought to be. 

On the other hand, I never can turn to the Do- 
menichino without being thrilled with emotion, 
and touched with awe. The story is told with the 
most admirable skill, and with the most exquisite 
truth and simplicity : the interest is one and the 
same ; it all centres in the person of the expiring 
saint ; and the calm benignity of the officiating 
priest is finely contrasted with the countenances of 
the group who support the dying form of St. Je- 
rome : anxious tenderness, grief, hope, and fear, 
are expressed with such deep pathos and reality, 
that the spectator forgets admiration in sympathy ; 
and I have gazed, till I could almost have fancied 
myself one of the assistants. The coloring is aa 
admirable as the composition — gorgeously rich in 
effect, but subdued to a tone which harmonizes 
with the solemnity of the subject. 

There is a curious anecdote connected with this 
picture, which I wish I had noted down at length 
as it was related to me, and at the time I heard it : 
it is briefly this. The picture was painted by Do- 
menichino for the church of San Girolamo della 
Cari+a. At that time the factions between the 
different schools of painting ran so high at Borne, 
that the followers of Domenichino and Gudo abso» 
utely stabbed and poisoned each other ; and the 



ROME. 169 

popular prejudice being in favor of the latter, the 
Communion of St. Jerome was torn down from its 
place, and flung into a lumber garret. Some time 
afterwards, the superiors of the convent wishing to 
substitute a new altar-piece, commissioned Nicolo 
Poussin to execute it ; and sent him Domenichino's 
rejected picture as old canvas to paint upon. No 
sooner had the generous Poussin cast his eyes on it, 
than he was struck, as well he might be, with aston- 
ishment and admiration. He immediately carried 
it into the church, and there lectured in public on 
its beauties, until he made the stupid monks 
ashamed of their blind rejection of such a master- 
piece, and boldly gave it that character it has ever 
since retained, of being the second best picture in 
the world. 

***** 

11. — A party of four, including L * * and my- 
self, ascended the dome of St. Peter's ; and even 
mounted into the gilt ball. It was a most fatiguing 
expedition, and one I have since repented. I 
gained, however, a more perfect, and a more sub- 
lime idea of the architectural wonders of St. 
Peter's, than I had before ; and I was equally 
pleased and surprised by the exquisite neatness 
and cleanliness of every part of the building. We 
drove from St. Peter's to the church of St. Onofrio, 
to visit the tomb of Tasso. A plain slab marks 
the spot, which requires nothing but his name to 
distinguish it. " After life's fitful fever he sleeps 



170 ROME. 

well." The poet Guidi lies in a little chapel close 
Dy ; and his effigy is so placed that the eyes appear 
fixed upon the tomb of Tasso. 

In the church of Santa Maria Trastevere, 
(which is held in peculiar reverence by the Tras- 
teverini,) there is nothing remarkable, except that 
like many others in Rome, it is rich in the spoils 
of antique splendor : afterwards to the Palazzo 
Farnese and the Farnesina to see the frescos of 
RafFaelle, Giulio Romano, and the Caraccis, which 
have long been rendered familiar to me in copies 
and engravings. 

12. — I did penance at home for the fatigue of 
the day before, and to-day (the 13th) I took a de- 
lightful drive of several hours attended only by 
Scaccia. Having examined at different times, and 
in detail, most of the interesting objects within the 
compass of the ancient city, I wished to generalize 
what I had seen, by a kind of survey of the whole. 
For this purpose making the Capitol a central 
point, I drove first slowly through the Forum, and 
made the circuit of the Palatine Hill, then by the 
arch of Janus, (which by a late decision of the an- 
tiquarians, has no more to do with Janus than with 
Jupiter,) and the temple of Vesta, back again over 
the site of the Circus Maximus, between the Pa- 
latine and the Aventine, (the scene of the Rape 
of the Sabines,) to the baths of Caracalla, where I 
spent an hour, musing, sketching, and poetizing 
thence to the church of San Stefano Rotundo 



ROME. 171 

once a temple dedicated to Claudius by Agrip- 
pina ; over the Celian Hill, covered with masses of 
ruins, to the church of St. John and St. Paul, a 
Email but beautiful edifice ; then to the neigh- 
boring church of San Gregorio, from the stepa 
of which there is such a noble view. Thence I re- 
turned by the arch of Constantine, and the Coli- 
seum, which frowned on me in black masses 
through the soft but deepening twilight, through 
the street now called the Suburra, but formerly 
the Via Scelerata, where Tullia trampled over the 
dead body of her father, and so over the Quirinal, 
home. 

My excursion was altogether delightful, and 
gave me the most magnificent, and I had almost 
said, the most bewildering ideas of the grandeur 
and extent of ancient Rome. Every step was 
classic ground : illustrior s names, and splendid rec- 
ollections crowded upon the fancy — 

" And trailing w>>ds of glory did they come." 

On the Palatine Hill were the houses of Cicero 
and the Gracchi ; Horace, Virgil, and Ovid re- 
sided on the Aventine ; and Mecsenas and Pliny on 
the iEsquiline. If one little fragment of a wall 
remained, which could with any shadow of proba- 
bility be pointed out as belonging to the residence 
v>f Cicero, Horace, or V*rgil, how much dearer, how 
much more sanctified to memory would it be than 
%11 the magnificent ruins of the fabrics of the Caesars 



172 ROME. 

But no — all has passed away. I have heard the re- 
mains of Rome coarsely ridiculed, because, after the 
researches of centuries, so little is comparatively 
known — because of the endless disputes of antiqua- 
rians, and the night and ignorance in which all is 
involved : but to the imagination there is some- 
thing singularly striking in this mysterious veil 
which hangs like a cloud upon the objects around 
us. I trod to-day over shapeless masses of build- 
ing, extending in every direction as far as the eye 
could reach. Who had inhabited the edifices I 
trampled under my feet ? What hearts had burned 
— what heads had thought — what spirits had 
kindled there, where nothing was seen but a wilder- 
ness and waste, and heaps of ruins, to which anti- 
quaries — even Nibby himself — dare not give a 
name ? All swept away — buried beneath an ocean 
of oblivion, above which rise a few great and glo- 
rious names, like rocks, over which the billows of 
time break in vain. 

Indi esclamo, qua? notte atra, importuna 
Tutte l'ampie tue glorie a un tratto amorza? 
Glorie di senno, di valor, di forza 
Gia mille avesti, or non hai pur una ! 

One of the most striking scenes I saw to-day 
was the Roman forum, crowded with the common 
people gaily dressed ; (it is a festa or saint's day ;) 
the women sitting in groups upon the fallen col- 
umns, nursing or amusing their children. The 



ROME. 173 

men were playing at mora, or at a game like 
quoits. Under the west side of the Palatine Hill, 
on the site of the Circus Maximus, I met a woman 
mounted on an ass, habited in a most beautiful and 
singular holiday costume, a man walked by her 
side, leading the animal she rode, with lover-like 
watchfulness. He was en veste, and I observed 
that his cloak was thrown over the back of the ass 
as a substitute for a saddle. Two men followed 
behind with their long capotes hanging from their 
shoulders and carrying guitars, which they struck 
from time to time, singing as they walked along. 
A little in advance there is a small chapel, and 
Madonna. A young girl approached, and laying 
a bouquet of flowers before the image, she knelt 
down, hid her face in her apron, and wrung her 
hands from time to time as if she was praying with 
fervor. When the group I have just mentioned 
came up, they left the pathway, and made a cir- 
cuit of many yards to avoid disturbing her, the 
men taking off their hats, and the woman inclining 
her head, in sign of respect, as they passed. 

All this sounds, while I soberly write it down, 
very sentimental, and picturesque, and poetical. 
It was exactly what I saw — what I often see : such 
is the place, the scenery, the people. Every group 
\s a picture, the commonest object has some in- 
terest attached to it, the commonest action is dig- 
nified by sentiment, the language around us ie 
wusic, ard the air we breathe is poetry. 



174 ROMS. 

Just as I was writing the word mttsfc, the soondi 

gnitar attracted me to the window, which 

looks into a narrow back street, and is exa< dj 

opposite a small white hor.se belonging to a vettu- 
rino, who has a very pretty daughter. For her 
b serenade was evidently intended; tor the 
moment the musie began, she placed a light in the 
window as a signal that she listened propitiously, 
and then retired. The group below consisted of 
two men. the lover and a musician he had V 
with him : the former stood looking up at the 
window with his hat off, and the musician, after 
singing two very beautiful airs, concluded with the 
delicious and popular Arietta " Buona notte amato 
bene!" to which the lover whistled a second, in 
such perfect tune, and Avith such exquisite taste, 
that I was enchanted. Rome is famous tor sere- 
nades and serenaders ; but at this season they are 
seldom heard. I remember at Venice being 
wakened in the dead of the night by such deli- 
cious music, that (to use a hyperbole common in 
the mouths of this poetical people) [ was M trans- 
ported to the seventh heaven : " before I could 
perfectly recollect myself, the music ceased, the 
inhabitants of the neighbouring houses threw open 
their casements, and vehemently and enthusiasti- 
cally applauded, clapping their hands, ami shout- 
ing braves : but neither at Venice, at Padua, nor 
at Florence did I hear any thing that pleased ana 
touched me so much as the serenade to which 1 
have just been listening; 



ROMK. 175 

* * * * • 

14. — To-day was quite heavenly — like a lovely 
May-day in England : the air so pure, so soft, and 
the sun so warm, that I would gladly have dis- 
pensed with my shawl and pelis:;e. We went in 
carriages to the other side of the Palatine, arid 
then dispersing in small parties, as will or fancy 
led, we lounged and wandered about in the Coli- 
seum, and among the neighbouring ruins till 
dinner time. I climbed up the western side of the 
Coliseum, at the imminent hazard of my neck ; 
and looking down through a gaping aperture on 
the brink of which I had accidentally seated my- 
self, I saw in the colossal corridor far below me, a 
young artist, who, as if transported out of his 
senses by delight and admiration, was making the 
most extraordinary antics and gestures : sometimes 
he clasped his hands, then extended his arms, 
then stood with them folded as in deep thought ; 
now he snatched up his portfolio as if to draw what 
so much enchanted him, then threw it down and 
kicked it from him as if in despair. I never saw 
such admirable dumb show : it was better than 
any pantomime. At length, however, he hap- 
pened to cast up hi3 eyes, as if appealing to heaven, 
and they encountered mine peeping down upon 
him from above. He stood fixed and motionless 
for two seconds, staring at me, and then snatching 
up his portfolio and his hat, ran off and disap- 
peared. I met the same man afterwards walking 



1 76 ROME. 

along the Via Felice, and could not help smiling at 
he passed : he smiled too, but pulled his hat over 
his face and turned away. 

I discovered to-day (and it is no slight pleasure 
to make a discovery for one's self) the passage 
which formed the communication between the Co- 
liseum and the Palace of the Caesars, and in which 
the Emperor Commodus was assassinated. I rec- 
ognized it by its situation, and the mosaic pave- 
ment described by Nibby. If I had time I might 
moralize here, and make an eloquent tirade a la 
Eustace about imperial monsters and so forth,— 
but in fact I did think, while I stood in the damp 
and gloomy corridor, that it was a fitting death 
for Commodus to die by the giddy playfulness of 
a child, and the machinations of an abandoned 
woman. It was not a favorable time or hour to 
contemplate the Coliseum — the sunshine was too 
resplendent — 

It was a garish, broad, and peering day, 
Loud, light, suspicious, full of eyes and ears ; 
And every little corner, nook, and hole, 
Was penetrated by the insolent light. 

We are told that five thousand animals were 
slain in the amphitheatre on its dedication — how 
dreadful ! The mutual massacres of the gladiators 
inspire less horror than this disgusting butchery f 
To what a pitch must the depraved appetite for 
*lood and death have risen among the corrupted 



ROME. 177 

and ferocious populace, before such a sight could 
be endured ! 

15. — We drove to-day to the tomb of Cecilia 
Metella, on the Appian Way, to the Fountain of 
Egeria, and the tomb of the Scipios near the Porta 
Cappena. 

I wish the tomb of Cecilia Metella had been 
that of Cornelia or Valeria. There may be little 
in a name, but how much there is in association ! 
What this massy fabric wanted in classical fame 
Lord Byron has lately supplied in poetical interest. 
The same may be said of the Fountain of Egeria, 
to which he has devoted some of the most exquisite 
stanzas in his poem, and has certainly invested it 
with a charm it could not have possessed before. 
The woods and groves which once surrounded it, 
have been all cut down, and the scenery round it is 
waste and bleak ; but the fountain itself is pretty, 
overgrown with ivy, moss, and the graceful capil- 
laire plant (capello di venere) drooping from the 
walls, and the stream is as pure as crystal. L* *, 
who was with us, took up a stone to break off a 
piece of the statue, and maimed, defaced, and 
wretched as it is, I could not help thinking it a 
profanation to the place, and stopped his hand, 
calling him a barbarous Vandyke: he looked sc 
awkwardly alarmed and puzzled by the epithet I 
had given him ! The identity of this spot (like all 
Dther places here) has been vehemently disputed. 
12 



178 ROME. 

At every step to-day we encountered doubt, and 
contradiction, and cavilling : authorities are mar- 
shalled against each other in puzzling array, and 
the modern unwillingness to be cheated by fine 
sounds and great names has become a general 
scepticism. I have no objection to the " shadows, 
doubts, and darkness " which rest upon all around 
us ; it rather pleases my fancy thus to " dream 
over the map of things," abandoned to my own 
cogitations and my own conclusions ; but then 
there are certain points upon which it is very dis- 
agreeable to have one's faith disturbed ; and the 
Fountain of Egeria is one of these. So leaving the 
more learned antiquarians to fight it out, secundum 
artem, and fire each other's wigs if they will, I am 
determined, and do steadfastly believe, that the 
Fountain of Egeria I saw to-day is the very iden- 
tical and original Fountain of Egeria — of Numa's 
Egeria — and therefore it is so. 

The tomb of the Scipios is a dirty dark wine 
cellar : all the urns, the fine sarcophagus, and the 
original tablets and inscriptions have been removed 
to the Vatican. I thought to-day while I stood in 
the sepulchre, and on the very spot whence the 
sarcophagus of Publius was removed, if Scipio, or 
Augustus, or Adrian, could return to this world, 
how would their Roman pride endure to see their 
iast resting-places, the towers and the pyramids in 
Krhich they fortified themselves, thus violated and 
put to ignoble uses, and the urns which contained 



ROME. 179 

their ashes stuck up as ornaments in a painted 
room, where barbarian visitors lounge away their 
hours, and stare upon their relics with scornful 
indifference or idle curiosity ! 

***** 

The people here, even the lowest and meanest 
among them, seem to have imbibed a profound re- 
spect for antiquity and antiquities, which some- 
times produces a comic effect. I am often amused 
by the exultation with which they point out a bit 
of old stone, or piece of brick wall, or shapeless 
fragment of some nameless statue, and tell you it 
is antico, molto antico, and the half contemptuous 
tone in which they praise the most beautiful 
modern production, e moderna — ma pure non 4 

cativa I 

***** 

18. — We had an opportunity of witnessing to- 
day one of the most splendid ceremonies of the 
Catholic church. It is one of the four festivals at 
which the Pope performs mass in state at the Vat- 
ican, the anniversary of St. Peter's entrance into 
Rome, and of his taking possession of the Papal 
Dhair; for here St. Peter is reckoned the first 
Pope. To see the high-priest of an ancient and 
wide -spread superstition publicly officiate in his 
sacred character, in the grandest temple in the 
Universe, and surrounded by all the trappings of 
hte spiritual and temporal authority, was an exhibi- 
tion to make sad a reflecting mind, but to pleas« 



180 ROME. 

and exalt a lively imagination : I wished myself a 
Roman Catholic for one half hour only. The pro- 
cession, which was so arranged as to produce the 
most striking theatrical effect, moved up the cen- 
tral aisle, to strains of solemn and beautiful music 
from an orchestra of wind instruments. The musi 
eians were placed out of sight, nor could I guess 
from what part of the buildings the sounds pro- 
ceeded ; but the blended harmony, so soft, yet so 
powerful and so equally diffused, as it floated 
through the long aisles and lofty domes, had a most 
heavenly effect. At length appeared the Pope, 
borne on the shoulders of his attendants, and hab- 
ited in his full pontifical robes of white and gold ; 
fans of peacocks' feathers were waved on each 
side of his throne, and boys flung clouds of incense 
from their censers. As the procession advanced 
at the slowest possible foot-pace, the Pope from 
time to time stretched forth his arms which were 
crossed upon his bosom, and solemnly blessed the 
people as they prostrated themselves on each side. 
I could have fancied it the triumphant approach of 
an eastern despot, but for the mild and venerable 
air of the amiable old Pope, who looked as if more 
humbled than exalted by the pageantry around 
him. It might be acting, but if so, it was the most 
admirable acting I ever saw : I wish all his attend- 
ants had performed their parts as well. While the 
Pope assists at mnss, it is not etiquette for him to 
do any thing for himself: one Car hnal kneeling 



ROME. 181 

holds the book open before him, another carries 
his handkerchief, a third folds and unfolds his robe, 
a priest on each side supports him whenever he 
rises or moves, so that he appears among them like 
a mere helpless automaton going through a certain 
set of mechanical motions, with which his will has 
nothing to do. All who approach or address him, 
prostrate themselves and kiss his embroidered slip- 
per before they rise. 

When the whole ceremony was over, and most 
of the crowd dispersed, the Pope, after disrobing 
was passing through a private part of the church 
where we were standing accidentally, looking at 
one of the monuments. We made the usual obei- 
sance, which he returned by inclining his head. 
He walked without support, but with great diffi- 
culty, and appeared bent by infirmity and age : his 
countenance has a melancholy but most benevolent 
expression, and his dark eyes retain uncommon 
lustre and penetration. During the twenty-one 
years he has worn the tiara, he has suffered many 
vicissitudes and humiliations with dignity and for- 
titude. He is not considered a man of very power- 
ful intellect or very shining talents : he is not a 
Ganganelli or a Lambertini ; but he has been 
happy in his choice of ministers, and his govern- 
ment has been distinguished by a spirit of liberality, 
ind above all by a partiality to the English, which 
tails for our respect and gratitude. There wero 
present to-day in St. Peter's about five cnjusand 



182 ROME. 

people, and the church would certainly have con- 
tained ten times the number. 



19. — We went to-day to view the restored model 
of the Coliseum exhibited in the Piazza di Spagna , 
and afterwards drove to the manufactory of the 
beads called Roman Pearl, which is well worth 
seeing once. The beads are cut from thin laminae 
of alabaster, and then dipped into a composition 
made of the scales of a fish (the Argentina). 
When a perfect imitation of pearl is intended, they 
can copy the accidental defects of color and form 
which occur in the real gem, as well as its bril- 
liance, so exquisitely, as to deceive the most prac- 
tised eye. 

20. — I ordered the open carriage early this 
morning, and, attended only by Scaccia, partly 
drove and partly walked through some of the 
finest parts of ancient Rome. The day has been 
perfectly lovely ; the sky intensely blue without a 
single cloud ; and though I was weak and far from 
well, I felt the influence of the soft sunshine in 
every nerve : the pure elastic air seemed to pene- 
trate my whole frame, and made my spirits bound 
and my heart beat quicker. It is true, I had to 
regret at every step the want of a more cultivated 
companion, and that I felt myself shamefully — na 
—not shamejully, but lamentably ignorant of man? 



ROME. 188 

(Jungs. There is so much of which I wish tn 
know and learn more : so much of my time is spent 
in hunting books, and acquiring by various means 
the information with which I ought already to 
be prepared ; so many days are lost by frequent 
indisposition, that though I enjoy, and feel the 
value of all I do know and observe, I am tantalized 
by the thoughts of all I must leave behind me 
unseen — there must necessarily be so much of 
what I do not even hear ! Yet, in spite of these 
drawbacks, my little excursion to-day was delight- 
ful. I took a direction just contrary to my last ex- 
pedition, first by the Quattro Fontane to the Santa 
Maria Maggiore, which I always see with new de- 
light ; then to the ruins called the temple of Mi- 
nerva Medica, which stand in a cabbage garden 
near another fine ruin, once called the Trofei di 
Mario, and now the Acqua Giulia : thence to the 
Porta Maggiore, built by Claudius ; and round by 
the Santa Croce di Gerusalemme. This church 
was built by Helena, the mother of Constantine, 
and contains her tomb, besides a portion of the 
True Cross from which it derives its name. The 
interior of this Basilica struck me as mean and 
cold. In the fine avenue in front of the Santa 
Croce, I paused a few minutes, to look round me 
To the right were the ruins of the stupendous 
Claudian Aqueduct with its gigantic arches, stretch- 
ing away in one unbroken series far into the Cam- 
j>agna : behind me the Amphitheatre of Castrense ' 



184 HOME. 

to the left, other ruins, once called the Temple of 
Venus and Cupid, and now the Sessorium: in 
front, the Lateran, the obelisk of Sesostris, the 
Porta San Giovanui, and great part of the ancient 
walls ; and thence the view extended to the foot 
of the Apennines. All this part of Rome is a 
scene of magnificent desolation, and of melancholy 
yet sublime interest : its wildness, its vastness, its 
waste and solitary openness, add to its effect upon 
the imagination. The only human beings I beheld 
in the compass of at least two miles, were a few 
herdsmen driving their cattle through the Gate of 
San Giovanni, and two or three strangers who 
were sauntering about with their note books and 
portfolios, apparently enthusiasts like myself, lost 
in the memory of the past and the contemplation 
of the present. 

I spent some time in the Lateran, then drove to 
the Coliseum, where I found a long procession of 
penitents, their figures and laces totally concealed 
by their masks and peculiar dress, chanting the 
Via Crucis. I then examined the site of the Temple 
of Venus and Rome, and satisfied myself by ocular 
demonstration of the truth of the measurements 
which gave sixty feet for the height of the columns 
and eighteen feet for their circumference. I knew 
enough of geometrical proportion to prove this tc 
tny own satisfaction. On examining the fragments 
which remain, each fluting measured a foot, that is- 
right inches right across. This appears prodigiou* 



185 



but it is, nevertheless, true. I am forced to believe 
to-day, what I yesterday doubted, and deemed a 
piece of mere antiquarian exaggeration. 

This magnificent edifice was designed and built 
by the Emperor Adrian, who piqued himself on hia 
skill in architecture, and carried his jealousy of 
other artists so far, as to banish Apollodorus, who 
had designed the Forum of Trajan. When he 
had finished the Temple of Venus and Rome, he 
sent to Apollodorus a plan of his stupendous struc- 
ture, challenging him to find a single fault in it 
The architect severely criticized some trifling over 
sights ; and the Emperor, conscious of the justice 
of his criticisms, and unable to remedy the defects, 
ordered him to be strangled. Such was the fat* 
of Apollodorus, whose misfortune it was to have aD 
Emperor for his rival. 

They are now clearing the steps which lead to 
this temple, from which it appears that the length 
of the portico in front was three hundred feet, and 
of the side five hundred feet. 

While I was among these ruins, I was struck by 
a little limped fountain, which gushed from the 
crumbling wall and lost itself among the fragments 
of the marble pavement. All looked dreary and 
desolate ; and that part of the ruin which from its 
situation must have been the sanctum sanctorum, 
the shrine of the divinity of the p^ace, is now a 
teceptacle of filth and every conceivable abomina 
fcion. 



iM hOMI 

I walked on to tho nans MM called the Ivisi- 

ntine, once tho Temple o 1. .» c. 

ice was in a bail stylo, and constructed at 

. -u\l when fa MtBl N 8 Hi I tef abb I J 01 tho 
rains are vast and magnificent. The exact diroo- 

of . - \ .1 Seen has long been a subject ot 

vehement dispute. They have new laid open a 

ot* it which ran in trout of tho Basilica : tho 

p.nctuee.t is about twelve foot below tho present 

pavement of Koine, and the soil turned np in their 

. \ wis is formed entirely of crumbled briek- 

v and mortar, and fragments of marble, por- 

1 granite. I returned by the Forum and 

the Oapitol. through the Formns Q V fl*i I and 

an, and so over the Monte O.nal'o. home. 

***** 

28. — Last night we had a numerous pari 
wr P, and his daughter came to sing. S 
a private singer of great talent, and eame attended 
bv her lover or her . who, according to the 

Italian CUS uls his mistress c\e;\ where 

during the tew weeks which precede their mar* 
riage. He is a young artist, a t'avorite pupil oi 
Oamueeini, and of very quiet unobtrusive maniuus. 
La P, has the misfortune to be plain : her features 
are irregular, her complexion of a sickly paleness, 
and though her &} es are large and dark, the;) 
reared totally devoid of lustre and expression 
Her plainness, the bad taste of her dress, her awk- 
van I future, and her timid and embarrassed .lo 



ROME. 187 

portment, all furnished matter of amusement and 
observation to some young people, (English of 
course,) whose propensities for quizzing exceedea 
their good-breeding and good-nature. Though 
La P. does not understand a word of either French 
01 English, I thought she could not mistake the 
significant looks and whispers of which she was 
the object, and I was in pain for her, and for her 
modest lover. I drew my chair to the piano, and 
tried to divert her attention by keeping her in con- 
versation, but I could get no farther than a few 
questions which were answered in monosyllables. 
At length she sang — and sang divinely : I found 
the pale automaton had a soul as well as a voice. 
After giving us, with faultless execution, as well as 
great expression, some of Rossini's finest songs, 
she sung the beautiful and difficult cavatina in 
Otello, " Assisa al pie d'un Salke" with the most 
enchanting style and pathos, and then stood as 
unmoved as a statue while the company applauded 
loud and long. A moment afterwards, as she 
stooped to take up a music book, her lover, who 
had edged himself by degrees from the doer to 
the piano, bent his head too, and murmured in a 
low voice, but with the most passionate accent, 
" O brava, brava cara ! " She replied only by a 
look — but it was such a look ! I never saw a 
human countenance so entirely, so instantaneously 
changed in character: the vacant eyes kindled 
and beamed with tenderness : the pale cheek 



188 ROME. 

glowed, and a bright smile playing round her 
mouth, just parted her lips sufficiently to discover 
a set of teeth like pearls. I could have called her 
at that moment beautiful ; but the change was aa 
transient as sudden — it passed like a gleam of 
light over her face and vanished, and by the time 
the book was placed on the desk, she looked as 
plain, as stupid, and as statue-like as ever. I was 
the only person who had witnessed this little by- 
scene ; and it gave me pleasant thoughts and 
interest for the rest of the evening. 

Another trait of character occurred afterwards, 
which amused me, but in a very different style. 

Our new Danish friend, the Baron B , told us 

he had once been present at the decapitation of 
nine men, having rirst fortified himself with a large 
goblet of brandy. After describing the scene in all 
its horrible details, and assuring us in his bad Ger- 
man French that it was " une chose bien mauvaise 
a voir" I could not help asking him with a shudder, 
how he felt afterwards ; whether it was not weeka 
or months before the impressions of horror left his 
mind ? He answered with smiling naivete and 
taking a pinch of snuff, " Mafoi ! madame, je n'ai 
pas pu manger de la viande toute cette journee-la ? n 
***** 

27. — We drove to the Palazzo Spada, to see the 
Famous Spada Pompey, said to be the very statue 
at the base of which Caesar fell. I was pleased to 
find, contrary to my expectations, that this statu« 



189 



has great intrinsic merit, besides its celebrity, to 
recommend it. The extremities of the limbs have 
a certain clumsiness which may perhaps be a 
feature of resemblance, and not a fault of the 
sculptor ; but the attitude is noble, and the like- 
ness of the head to the undisputed bust of Pompey 
in the Florentine gallery, struck me immediately. 
The Palazzo Spada, with its splendid architecture, 
dirt, discomfort, and dilapidation, is a fair specimen 
of the Roman palaces in general. It contains a 
corridor, which from an architectural deception 
appears much longer than it really is. I hate 
tricks — in architecture especially. We afterwards 
visited the Pantheon, the Church of Santa Maria 
sopra Minerva, (an odd combination of names,) and 
concluded the morning at Canova's. It is one of 
the pleasures of Rome to lounge in the studj of 
the best sculptors ; and it is at Rome only that 
sculpture seems to flourish as in its native soil. 
Rome is truly the city of the soul, the home of art 
and artists. With the divine models of the Vatican 
ever before their eyes, these inspiring skies above 
their heads, and the quarries of marble at a con- 
venient distance — it is here only they can conceive 
and execute those works which are formed from 
the beau-ideal; but it is not here they meet with 
patronage : the most beautiful things I have seen 
%t the various studj have all been executed for 
English, German, and Russian noblemen. The 
names I heard most frequently were those of the 



190 ROME. 

Dukes of Bedford and Devonshire, Prince Ester- 
hazy, and the King of England. 

Canova has been accused of a want of simplio- 
hy, and of giving a too voluptuous expression to 
some of his figures : with all my admiration of his 
genius, I confess the censure just. It is particu 
larly observable in the Clori svegliata, (the Nymph 
awakened by Love,) the Cupid and Psyche for 
Prince Yousouppoff, the Endymion, the Graces, 
and some others. 

In some of Thorwaldson's works there is exquis- 
ite grace, simplicity, and expression : the Shepherd 
Boy, the Adonis, the Jason, and the Hebe, have a 
great deal of antique spirit. I did not like the 
colossal Christ which the sculptor has just finished 
in clay : it is a proof that bulk alone does not con- 
stitute sublimity : it is deficient in dignity, or rather 
in divinity. 

At Rodolf Schadow's, I was most pleased by the 
Cupid and the Filatrice. His Cupid is certainly 
the most beautiful Cupid I ever saw, superior, J 
think, both to Canova's and to Thorwaldson's. 
The Filatrice, though so exquisitely natural and 
graceful, a little disappointed me ; I had heard much 
of it, and had formed in my own imagination an 
idea different and superior to what I saw. This 
beautiful figure has repose, simplicity, nature, and 
grace, but I felt a want — the want of some internal 
sentiment : for instance, if, instead of watching the 
rotation of her spindle with such industrious att«n 



f 



ROME. 191 

rion, the Filatrice had looked careless, or absent, 
or pensive, or disconsolate, (like Faust's Margaret 
at her spinning-wheel,) she would have been more 
interesting — but not perhaps what the sculptor in- 
tended to represent. 

Schadow is ill, but we were admitted by his 
order into his private study ; we saw there the 
Bacchante, which he has just finished in clay, and 
which is to emulate or rival Canova's Dansatrice. 
He has been at work upon a small but beautiful 
figure of a piping Shepherd-boy, which is just 
made out : beside it lay Virgil's Eclogues, and his 
spectacles were between the leaves.* 

Almost every thing I saw at Max Laboureur's 
struck me as vapid and finikin. There were some 
pretty groups, but nothing to tempt me to visit it 
again. 

***** 

30. — We spent the whole morning at the Villa 
Albani, where there is a superb collection of an- 
tique marbles, most of them brought from the 
Villa of Adrian at Tivoli. To note down even a 
few of the objects which pleased me, would be an 
endless task. I think the busts interested me 
most. There is a basso-relievo of Antinous — the 



* Poor Schadow died yesterday. He caught cold the other 
evening at the Duke of Bracciano's uncomfortable, ostentatious 
palace, where we heard him complaining of the cold of the Mosaio 
floors : three days afterwards he was no more He is univbrsallf 
regretted. — Authors note. 



192 ROME. 

beautiful head declined in his usual pensive atti- 
tude : it is the most finished and faultless piece of 
sculpture in relievo I ever saw; and as perfect 
and as polished as if it came from the chisel yes- 
terday. There is another basso-relievo of Marcus 
Aurelius, and Faustina, equal to the last in execu- 
tion, but not in interest. 

We found Rogers in the gardens : the old poet 
was sunning himself — walking up and down a 
beautiful marble portico, lined with works of art, 
with his note-book in his hand. I am told he is 
now writing a poem of which Italy is the subject ; 
and here, with all the Campagna di Roma spread 
out before him — above him, the sunshine and the 
cloudless skies — and all around him, the remains 
of antiquity in a thousand elegant, or venerable, 
or fanciful forms : he could not have chosen a more 
genial spot for inspiration. Though we disturbed 
his poetical reveries rather abruptly, he met us 
with his usual amiable courtesy, and conversed 
most delightfully. I never knew him more pleas- 
ant, and never saw him so animated. 

Our departure from Rome has been postponed 
from day to day in consequence of a trifling acci- 
dent. An Austrian colonel was taken by the 
banditti near Fondi, and carried up into the 
mountains : ten thousand scudi were demanded 
for his ransom ; and for many days past, the 
whole city has been in a state of agitation and 
suspense about his ultimate fate. The Austrians, 



ROME. 193 

roused by the insult, sent a large body of troops 
(some say three thousand men) against about one 
hundred and fifty robbers, threatening to exter- 
minate them. They were pursued so closely, that 
after dragging their unfortunate captive over the 
mountains from one fastness to another, till he was 
nearly dead from exhaustion and ill-treatment, 
they either abandoned or surrendered him without 
terms. The troops immediately marched back to 
Naples, and the matter rests here : I cannot learn 
that any thing farther will be done. The robbers 
being at present panic-struck by such unusual 
energy and activity, and driven from their accus- 
tomed haunts, by these valorous champions of 
good order and good policy, it is considered that 
the road is now more open and safe than it has 
been for some time, and if nothing new happens to 
alarm us, we set off on Friday next. 

I visited to-day the baths of Dioclesian, and 
the noble church which Michel Angelo has con- 
structed upon, and out of, their gigantic ruins. It 
has all that grand simplicity, that entireness which 
characterizes his works : it contains, too, some ad- 
mirable pictures. On leaving the church, I saw 
on each side of the door, the monuments of Sal- 
vator Rosa and Carlo Maratti — what a contrast do 
they exhibit in their genius, in their works, in 
their characters, in their countenances, in their 
lives! Near this church (the Santa Maria dei 
Angeli) is the superb fountain of the Acqua 

2 a 



19-1 KOME. 

Felice, the first view of which rather disappointed 
me. I had beeu told that it represented Moses 
striking the rock, — a magnificent idea for a foun- 
tain ! but the execution tails short of the concep- 
tion. The water, instead ot* gushing from the 
rock, is poured out from the mouths ot' two pro- 
digious lions of basalt, brought, I believe, from 
Upper Egypt : they seem misplaced here. A 
little beyond the Ponta Pia is the Campo Seelerato, 
where the Vestals were interred alive. We after- 
wards drove to the Santi Apostoli to see the tomb 
of the excellent Ganganelli, by Canova. Then to 
Sant' Ignazio, to see the famous ceiling painted in 
perspective by the Jesuit Pozzo. The effect is 
certainly marvellous, making the interior appear 
to the eye, at least twice the height it really is ; 
but though the illusion pleased me as a work of 
art, I thought the trickery unnecessary and mis- 
placed. At the magnificent church of the Gesuiti 
(where there are two entire columns of giallo an- 
tico) I saw a list of relics for which the church is 
celebrated, and whose efficacy and sanctity were 
vouched for by a very respectable catalogue of 
miracles. Among these relics there are a few 
worth mentioning for their oddity, viz : one of the 
Virgin's shifts, three of her hairs, and the skirt of 
Joseph's coat. 

31.—- We spent nearly the whole day in the 
gallery of the Vatican, and in the Pauline and 
Sistine chapels. 



PLEA. 195 



JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 



.:,.ry ], at fdMrf. 

J left Borne this morning exceedingly da* 
Eadame de Stae'J may well eall travelling 
un tritU plaitir. My depression did not ante from 
the feeling that I left behind me any flung or any 
person to regret, but from mixed and melancholy 
emotions, and partly perhapf from that treakneai 
which makes my hand tremble nrhile J write — 

which ha- hound down rny mind, and all it beet 
powers, arjd all it.:-; faculties of enjoyment, to a 
languid passiveness, making me feel at every mo- 
ment, J am not what J va\ ; or ought to be, or 
might have been. 

We arrived, after a short and most delightful 
journey by Albano, the Lake Nemi, Oensao, &c, 
at Velletri, the birthplace of that wretch Oota- 
vius, and famous for its wine. The day has been 
an soft and as sunny as a May-day in England, 
and the country, through which we travelled but 
too rapidly, beyond description lovely. The blue 
Mediterranean spread far to the west, and on the 
right we had the snowy mountains, with their wild 
fantastic peal Bg-JD the :-.ky" J felt it all 



196 JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 

in my h3art with a mixture of sadness and delight 
which I cannot express. 

This land was made by nature a paradise : it 
seems to want no charm "unborrowed from the 
eye," — but how has memory sanctified, history 
illustrated, and poetry illumined the scenes around 
us ; where every rivulet had its attendant nymph, 
where every wood was protected by its sylvan 
divinity ; where every tower has its tale of hero- 
ism, and "not a mountain lifts its head unsung;" 
and though the faith, the glory, and the power of 
the antique time be passed away — still 

■ A spirit hangs, 
Beautiful region! o'er thy towns and farms, 
Statues and temples, and memorial tombs. 

I can allow that one half, at least, of the beauty 
and interest we see, lies in our own souls ; that it 
is our own enthusiasm which sheds this mantle of 
light over all we behold: but, as colors do not 
exist in the objects themselves, but in the rays 
which paint them — so beauty is not less real is 
not less beauty, because it exists in the medium 
through which we view certain objects, rather 
than in those objects themselves. I have met 
persons who think they display a vast deal of' 
common sense, and very uncommon strength of 
mind, in rising superior to all prejudices of educa 
tion and illusions of romance — to whom enthusi 
asm is only another name for affectation — who- 



JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 197 

tfhere the cultivated and the contemplative mind 
finds ample matter to excite feeling and reflection, 
give themselves airs of fashionable nonchalance, 
or flippant scorn — to whom the crumbling ruin is 
so much brick and mortar, no more — to whom the 
tomb of the Horatii and Curiatii is a stack of chim- 
neys, the Pantheon an old oven, and the Fountain 
of Egeria a pig-sty. Are such persons aware that 
in all this there is an affectation, a thousand times 
more gross and contemptible than that affectation 
(too frequent perhaps) which they design to 
ridicule ? 

M Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes, 
He is a slave — the meanest we can meet." 

2. — Our journey to-day has been long but de- 
lightfully diversified, and abounding in classical 
beauty and interest. I scarce know what to say 
now that I open my little book to record my own 
Bensations : they are so many, so various, so pain 
ful, so delicious — my senses and my imagination 
have been so enchanted, my heart so very heavy — 
where shall I begin ? 

In some of the scenes of to-day — at Terracina, 
particularly, there was beauty beyond what I ever 
beheld or imagined : the scenery of Switzerland is 
of a different character, and on a different scale : 
it is beyond comparison grander, more gigantic, 
more overpowering, but it is not so poeticaL 
Switzerland is not Italy — is not the enchanting 



198 JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 

south. This soft balmy air, these myrtles, orange- 
groves, palm-trees; these cloudless skies, this 
bright blue sea, and sunny hills, all breathe of an 
enchanted land ; " a land of Faery." 

Between Velletri and Terracina, the road runs 
in one undeviating line through the Pontine 
Marshes. The accounts we have of the baneful 
effects of the malaria here, and the absolute 
solitude, (not a human face or a human habitation 
intervening from one post-house to another,) invest 
the wild landscape with a frightful and peculiar 
character of desolation. As for the mere exterior 
of the country, I have seen more wretched and 
sterile looking spots, (in France, for instance,) 
but none that so affected the imagination and the 
spirits. On leaving the Pontine Marshes, we came 
almost suddenly upon the sunny and luxuriant 
region near Terracina : here was the ancient city 
of Anxur ; and the gothic ruins of the castle of 
Theodoric, which frown on the steep above, are 
contrasted with the delicate and Grecian propor- 
tions of the temple below. All the country round 
is famed in classic and poetic lore. The Promon- 
tory (once poetically the island) of Circe is still 
the Monte Circello : here was the region of the 
Lestrygons, and the scene of part of the iEneid 
and Odyssey ; and Corinne has superadded roman« 
tic and charming associations quite as delightful, 
and quite as true. 

Antiquarians, who, like politicians, " seem to 



JOURNEY TO NAPLE8. 199 

•ee the things that are not," have placed all along 
this road, the^ sites of many a celebrated town and 
fane — " making hue and cry after many a city 
which has run away, and by certain marks and 
tokens pursuing to find it ; " as some old author 
says so quaintly. At every hundred yards, frag- 
ments of masonry are seen by the roadside ; por- 
tions of brickwork, sometimes traced at the bottom 
of a dry ditch, or incorporated into a fence ; some- 
times peeping above the myrtle bushes on the wild 
hills, where the green lizards lie basking and 
glittering on them in thousands, and the stupid 
ferocious buffalo, with his fierce red eyes, rubs his 
hide and glares upon us as we pass. No — not the 
grandest monuments of Rome — not the Coliseum 
itself, in all its decaying magnificence, ever inspired 
me with such profound emotions as did those name- 
less, shapeless vestiges of the dwellings of man, 
starting up like memorial tombs in the midst of this 
savage but luxuriant wilderness. Of the beautiful 
cities which rose along this lovely coast, the colo- 
nies of elegant and polished Greece— one after 
another swallowed up by the " insatiate maw " of 
ancient Rome, nothing remains— their sites, their 
very names have passed away and perished. We 
inight as well hunt after a forgotten dream. 

Vain was the chief's, the sage's pride, 
They had no poet, and they died ! 
In vain they toil'd. in vain they bled, 
They had no poet — and are dea i. 



200 JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 

I write this at Gaeta — a name famous in th« 
poetical, the classical, the military story of Italy 
from the days of iEneas, from whom it received 
its appellation, down to the annals of the late war 
On the site of our inn, (the Albergo di Cicerone>) 
stood Cicero's Formian Villa ; and in an adjoining 
grove he was murdered in his litter by the satellites 
of the Triumviri, as he attempted to escape. I 
stood to-night on a little terrace, which hung over 
an orange grove, and enjoyed a scene which I 
would paint, if words were forms, and hues, and 
sounds — not else. A beautiful bay, enclosed by 
the Mola di Gaeta, on one side, and the Promon- 
tory of Misenum on the other : the sky studded 
with stars, and reflected in a sea as blue as itself — 
and so glassy and unruffled, it seemed to slumber 
in the moonlight : now and then the murmur of a 
wave, not hoarsely breaking on rock and shingles, 
but kissing the turfy shore, where oranges and 
myrtles grew down to the water edge. These, and 
the remembrances connected with all, and a mind 
to think, and a heart to feel, and thoughts both of 
pain and pleasure mingling to render the effect 
more deep and touching. — Why should I write 
this ? O surely I need not fear that I shall foiyst 



JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 201 



LINES 

WB1TTEN AT MOLA DI GAETA, NEAR THE RUINS OF 
CICERO'S FORMIAN VILLA. 

We wandered through bright climes, and drank tha 

beams 
Of southern suns : Elysian scenes we view'd, 
Such as we picture oft in those day dreams 
That haunt the fancy in her wildest mood. 
Upon the sea-beat vestiges we stood, 
Where Cicero dwelt and watch' d the latest gleams 
Of rosy light steal )'er the azure flood: 
And memory conjur'd up most glowing themes, 
Filling the expanded heart, till it forgot 
Its own peculiar grief ! — ! if the dead 
Yet haunt our earth, around this hallow' d spot, 
Hovers sweet Tully's spirit, since it fled 
The Roman Forum — Forum now no more ! 
Though cold and silent be the sands we tread, 
Still burns the " eloquent air," and to the shore 
There rolls no wave, and through the orange shadi 
There sighs no breath, which doth not speak of him 
The father of his country : and though dim 
Her day of empire — and her laurel crown 
Torn and defaced, and soiled with blood and tears, 
And her imperial eagles trampled down — 
Still with a queer- -like grace, Italia wears 
Her garland of brignt names, — her coronal of stars, 
(Radiant memorials of departed worth!) 
That shed a glory round her pensive brow, 
And make her still the worship of the earth. 



209 NAPLES. 



NAPLES. 

Sunday, 3d. 

We left Gaeta early. If the scene was so beau- 
tiful in the evening — how bright, how lovely it was 
this morning ! The sun had not long risen ; and a 
Boft purple mist hung over part of the sea ; while 
to the north and west the land and water sparkled 
and glowed in the living light. Some little fishing 
boats which had just put off, rocked upon the 
glassy sea, which lent them a gentle motion, though 
itself appeared all mirror-like and motionless. The 
orange and lemon trees in full foliage literally bent 
over the water ; and it was so warm at half-past 
eight that I felt their shade a relief. 

After leaving Gaeta, the first place of note is or 
tvas Minturnum, where Marius was taken, con- 
cealed in the marshes near it. The marshes remain, 
the city has disappeared. Capua is still a large 
town ; but it certainly does not keep up its ancient 
fame for luxury and good cheer : for we found it 
extremely difficult to procure any thing to eat. 
The next town is Avversa, a name unknown, J 
believe, in the classical history of Italy : it was 
founded, if I remember rightly, by the Norman 
knights. Near this place is or was the convent 



NAPLES. 203 

where Queen Joanna strangled her husband An- 
drea, with a silken cord of her own weaving. So 
Bays the story : non lo credo io. 

From Avversa to Naples the country is not in- 
teresting ; but fertile and rich beyond description : 
an endless succession of vineyards and orange 
groves. At length we reached Naples ; all tired 
and in a particularly sober and serious mood : we 
remembered it was the Sabbath, and had forgotten 
that it was the first day of the Carnival ; and great 
was our amazement at the scene which met us on 
our arrival — 

I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed : and all 
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost. 

The whole city seemed one vast puppet-show ; 
and the noisy gayety of the crowded streets almost 
stunned me. One of the first objects we encoun- 
tered was a barouche full of Turks and Sultanas, 
driven by an old woman in a tawdry court dresa 
as coachman ; while a merry-andrew and a harle- 
quin capered behind as footmen. Owing to the 
immense size of the city, and the difficulty of 
making our way through the motley throng of 
masks, beggars, lazzaroni, eating-stalls, carts and 
carriages, we were nearly three hours traversing 
the streets before we reached our inn on the 
Chiaja. 

7 feel tired and over- excited : I have been 



804 NAPLES. 

standing on my balcony looking out upon the 
moonlit bay, and listening to the mingled shouts, 
the laughter, the music all around me ; and think- 
ing — till I feel in no mood to write. 

***** 

7. — Last night we visited the theatre of San 
Carlo. It did not strike me as equal to the Scala 
at Milan. The form is not so fine, the extent of 
the stage is, or appeared to be, less ; but there is 
infinitely more gilding and ornament : the mirrors 
and lights, the sky-blue draperies produce a splen- 
did effect, and the coup-d'ceil is, on the whole, more 
gay, more theatre-like. It was crowded in every 
part, and many of the audience were in dominos 
and fancy dresses : a few were masked. Rossini's 
Barbiere di Seviglia, which contains, I think, more 
melody than all his other operas put together, (the 
Tancredi perhaps excepted,) was most enchantingly 
sung, and as admirably acted ; and the beautiful 
classical ballet of " Niobe and her Children," 
would have appeared nothing short of perfection, 
had I not seen the Didone Abbandonata at Milan. 
But they have no actress here like the graceful, 
the expressive Pallerini ; nor any actor equal to 
the JEneas of the Scala. 

***** 

The Austrians, who are paramount here, allow 
masks only twice a week, Sundays and Thursdays. 
The people seem determined to indemnify them- 
selves for this restriction on their pleasures bj 



NAPLES. 205 

every allowed excess during the two days of mer- 
riment, which their despotic conquerors have 
spared them. I am told by M * * and S * *, our 
Italian friends, that the Carnival is now fallen off 
from its wild spirit of fanciful gayety ; that it is 
stupid, dull, tasteless, in comparison to what it was 
formerly, owing to the severity of the Austrian 
police. I know nothing about the propriety of the 
measures which have been resorted to for curbing 
the excesses of the Carnival ; I think if people will 
run away instead of fighting for their national 
rights, they must be content to suffer accordingly — 
but I meddle not with politics, and with all my 
heart abhor them. Whatever the gayeties of the 
Carnival may have been formerly, it is scarce pos- 
sible to conceive a more fantastic, a more pictur- 
esque, a more laughable scene than the Strada di 
Toledo exhibited to-day ; the whole city seemed 
to wear " one universal grin ; " and such an inces- 
sant fire of sugar-plums (or what seemed such) 
was carried on, and with such eagerness and mimic 
fury, that when our carriage came out of the con- 
flict, we all looked as if a sack of flour had been 
shaken over us. The implements used in this 
ridiculous warfare, are, for common purposes, little 
balls of plaster of Paris and flour, made to resem- 
Me small comfits : friends and acquaintances pelted 
each other with real confetti, and those of thfa 
snost delicious and expensive kinds. A double file 
af carriages moved in a contrary direction along the 



206 NAPLES. 

Corso ; a space in the middle and on each side 
being left for horsemen and pedestrians, and the 
most exact order was maintained by the guards 
and police ; so that if by chance a carriage lost its 
place in the line it was impossible to recover it, and 
it was immediately obliged to leave the street, and 
re-enter by one of the extremities. Besides the 
warfare carried on below, the balconies on each 
side were crowded with people in gay or grotesque 
dresses, who had sacks of bon-bons before them, 
from which they showered volleys upon those be- 
neath, or aimed across the street at each other : 
some of them filled their handkerchiefs, and then 
dexterously loosening the corners, and taking a 
certain aim, flung a volley at once. This was like 
a cannon loaded with grape-shot, and never failed 
to do the most terrific execution. 

Among the splendid and fanciful equipages of 
the masqueraders, was one, containing the Duke 
of Monteleone's family, in the form of a ship, richly 
ornamented, and drawn by six horses mounted by 
masks for postilions. The fore part of the vessel 
contained the Duke's party, dressed in various gay 
costumes, as Tartar warriors and Indian queens. 
In the stern were the servants and attendants, tra- 
vestied in the most grotesque and ludicrous style 
This magnificent and unwieldly car had by some 
chance lost its place in the procession, and vainly 
endeavored to whip in ; as it is a point of honoi 
».mong the charioteers not to yield the pas. Ouj 



207 



coachman, however, was ordered (though most un- 
willing) to draw up and make way for it ; and 
this little civility was acknowledged, not only by a 
profusion of bows, but by such a shower of deli- 
cious sugar plums, that the seats of our carriage 
were literally covered with them, and some of the 
gentlemen flung into our laps elegant little baskets, 
fastened with ribbons, and filled with exquisite 
sweetmeats. I could not enter into all this with 
much spirit : " non son io quel cJi'un tempo fui : " 
but I was an amused, though a quiet spectator ; 
and sometimes saw much more than those who were 
actually engaged in the battle. I observed that 
to-day our carriage became an object of attention, 
and a favorite point of attack to several parties on 
foot, and in carriages; and I was at no loss to 
discover the reason. I had with me a lovely girl, 
whose truly English style of beauty, her brilliant 
bloom, heightened by her eager animation, her lips 
dimpled with a thousand smiles, and her whole 
countenance radiant with glee and mischievous 
archness, made her an object of admiration, which 
the English expressed by a fixed stare, and the 
Italians by sympathetic smiles, nods, and all the 
usual superlatives of delight. Among our most po- 
tent and malignant adversaries, was a troup of ele- 
gant masks in a long open carriage, the form of 
which was totally concealed by the boughs of laurel, 
And wreaths of artificial flowers, with which it waa 
cohered. It was drawn by six fine horses, fanci 



208 



fully caparisoned, ornamented with plumes of feath- 
ers, and led by grotesque masks. In the carriage 
stood twelve persons in black silk dourinos, black 
hats, and black masks ; with plumes of crimson 
feathers, and rich crimson sashes. They were 
armed with small painted targets and tin tubes, 
from which they shot volleys of confetti, in such 
quantities, and with such dexterous aim, that we 
were almost overwhelmed whenever we passed 
them. It was in vain we returned the compliment ; 
our small shot rattled on their masks, or bounded 
from their shields, producing only shouts of laugh- 
ter at our expense. 

A favorite style of mask here, is the dress of an 
English sailor, straw hats, blue jackets, white trow- 
sers, and very white masks with pink cheeks : we 
saw hundreds in this whimsical costume. 

13. — On driving home rather late this evening, 
and leaving the noise, the crowds, the confusion 
and festive folly of the Strada di Toledo, we came. 
suddenly upon a scene, which, from its beauty, no 
less than by the force of contrast, strongly im- 
pressed my imagination. The shore was silent, 
and almost solitary : the bay as smooth as a mir- 
ror, and as still as a frozen lake ; the sky, the sea, 
the mountains round were all of the same hue, 
a soft grey tinged with violet, except where the 
sunset had left a narrow crimson streak along 
the edge of the sea. There was not a breeze 
not the slightest breath of air, and a single vessel. 



NAPLES. 205 

a frigate with all its white sails crowded, lay mo- 
tionless as a monument on the bosom of the waters, 
in which it was reflected as in a mirror. I have 
§een the bay more splendidly beautiful ; but I 
never saw so peculiar, so lovely a picture. It 
lasted but a short time; the transparent purple 
veil became a dusky pall, and night and shadow 
gradually enveloped the whole.* 

***** 

How I love these resplendent skies and blue seas ! 
Nature here seems to celebrate a continual Festa, 
and to be forever decked out in holiday costume ! 
A drive along the "sempre beata Mergellina " to the 
extremity of the Promontory of Pausilippo is posi- 
tive enchantment ; thence we looked over a land- 
scape of such splendid and unequalled interest ! 
the shores of Baia, where Cicero, Horace, Virgil, 
Pliny, Mecsenas, lived ; the white towers of Puz 
zuoli and the Islands of Ischia, Procida, and Nisida. 
There was the Sibyl's Cave, Lake Acheron, and 
the fabled Lethe ; there the sepulchre of Misenus, 
who defied the Triton ; and the scene of the whole 
Bixth book of the iEneid, which I am now reading 
in Annibal Caro's translation ; there Agrippina 

*A chasm occurs here of about twenty pages, which in 
the original MS. are torn out. Nearly the whole of what 
was written at Naples has sufferel mutilation, or has been 
purposely effaced; so that in m&ny p;irts only a detached 
lentence, or a fe* words, are legible in the course of severa] 
pages. — Editor. 

14 



210 



mourned Gernianicus ; and there her daughter fell 
a vietim to her monster of a sou. At our feet lay 
the lovely little Island of Xisida. the spot on which 
Brutus and Portia parted for the last time before 
the battle of Philippi. 

To the south of the bay the scenery is not less 
magnificent, and scarcely less dear to memory; 
Naples, rising from the sea like an amphitheatre of 
white palaces, and towers, and glittering domes; 
beyond, Mount Vesuvius, with the smoke curling 
from its summit like a silver cloud, and forming the 
only speck upon the intense blue sky : along its 
base Portiei, Annunziata. Torre del Greco, glitter 
in the sun ; every white building — almost every 
window in every building, distinct to the eye at the 
distance of several miles : farther on, and perched 
like white nests on the mountainous promontory, 
lie Castel a Mare, and Sorrento, the birthplace of 
Tasso. and his asylum when the injuries of his 
cold-hearted persecutors had stung him to madness, 
and drove him here for refuge to the arms of his 
sister. Yet, farther on, Capua rises from the sea, » 
beautiful object in itself, but from which the fancy 
gladly turns to dwell again upon the snowy build 
ings of Sorrento. 

de la liberty vieille et sainte patrie ! 
Terre autrefois feconde en sublimes verrus ! 
Sens d'indignes Cedars maintenant asservie 
Ton empire est tombe" ! tes he'ros ne sont plutl 



NAPLES. 211 

Mais dans son sein Fame aggrandie 
Croit sur leurs monumens respirer leur g^nie, 
Comme on respire encore dans un temple aboli 
La Majeste - du Dieu dont il £tait rempli. 

De la MARTHm 



THE 

SONG OF THE SYREN PAETHENOPE. 
A RHAPSODY, 

WRITTEN AT NAPLES. 

Mine are these -waves, and mine-the twilight depth* 
O'er which they roll, and all these tufted isles 
That lift their backs like dolphins from the deep, 
And all these sunny shores that gird us round ! 

Listen! listen to the Sea-maid's shell; 

Ye who have wander* d hither from far climes, 

("Where the coy summer yields but half her sweet»,j 

To breathe my bland luxurious airs, and drink 

My sunbeams ! and to revel in a land 

Where Nature — deck'd out like a bride to meet 

Her lover — lays forth all her charms, and smiles 

Languidly bright, voluptuously gay, 

Sweet to the sense, and tender to the heart. 

Listen ! listen to the Sea-maid's shell ; 
Ye who have fled j'our natal shores in hate 
Or anger, urged by pale disease, or want, 
Or grief, that .jlingi lg like the spectre bat, 
Sucks drop by drop the life-blood from t'ie heart, 
And hither come to learn forgetfulness, 



m 



Or to prolong existence ! ye shall find 

Both — though the spring Lethean flow no more, 

There is a power in these entrancing skies 

And murmuring waters and delicious airs, 

Felt in the dancing spirits and the blood, 

And falling on the lacerated heart 

Like balm, until that life becomes a boon, 

Which elsewhere is a burthen and a curse. 

Hear then — hear the Sea-maid's airy shell, 

Listen, listen ! 'tis the Syren sings, 

The spirit of the deep — Parthenope — 

She who did once i' the dreamy days of old 

Sport on these golden sands beneath the moon, 

Or pour'd the ravishing music of her song 

Over the silent waters; and bequeath' d 

To all these sunny capes and dazzling shores 

Her own immortal beauty and her name. 

This is the last day of the Carnival, the last 
»ight of the opera : the people are permitted to go 
in masks, and after the performances there will be 
a ball. To-day, when Baldi was describing the ex- 
cesses which usually take place during the last few 
hours of the Carnival, he said, " the man who has 
but half a shirt will pawn it to-night to buy a good 
Bupper and an opera-ticket : to-morrow for fish and 
soup-maigre — fasting and repentance ! " 

***** 

Saturday, 23. — I have just seen a most magnifi- 
cent sight ; one which I have often dreamed of, 
often longed to behold, and having beheld, never 



213 



shall forget. Mount Vesuvius is at this moment 
blazing like a huge furnace ; throwing up every 
minute, or half minute, columns of fire and red-hot 
stones, which fall in showers and bound down the 
side of the mountain. On the east, there are two 
distinct streams of lava descending, which glow 
with almost a white heat, and every burst of flame 
is accompanied by a sound resembling cannon at a 
distance. — 

I can hardly write, my mind is so overflowing 
with astonishment, admiration, and sublime pleas- 
ure : what a scene as I looked out on the bay 
from the Santa Lucia ! On one side, the evening 
star and the thread-like crescent of the new moon 
were setting together over Pausilippo, reflected in 
lines of silver radiance on the blue sea ; on the 
other the broad train of fierce red light glared 
upon the water with a fitful splendor, as the ex- 
plosions were more or less violent : before me all 
was so soft, so lovely, so tranquil ! while I had 
only to turn my head to be awe-struck by the con- 
vulsion of fighting elements. 

I remember, that on our first arrival at Naples, 
I was disappointed because Vesuvius did not 
smoke so much as I had been led to expect from 
pictures and descriptions. The smoke then lay 
tfke a scarcely perceptible cloud on the highest 
point, or rose in a slender white column ; to-day 
»nd yesterday, it has rolled from the crater in 
olack volumes, mixing with the cloud? above, and 
tarkening the sky. 



214 NAPI.ES. 

Half-past twelve. — I have walked out again : 
the blaze from the crater is less vivid ; but there 
are now four streams of lava issuing from it, which 
have united in two broad currents, one of which 
extends below the hermitage. It is probable that 
by to-morrow night it will have reached the lower 
part of the mountain. 

Sunday, 24. — Just returned from chapel at the 
English ambassador's, where the service was read 
by a dandy clergyman to a crowd of fine and super- 
fine ladies and gentlemen, crushed together into a 
hot room. I never saw extravagance in dresa 
carried to such a pitch as it is by my country- 
women here, — whether they dress at the men or 
against each other, it is equally bad taste. The 
sermon to-day was very appropriate, from the 
text, " Take ye no thought what ye shall eat, or what 
ye shall drink, or what ye shall put on," and, I dare 
say, it was listened to with singular edification. 

5 o'clock. — We have been driving along the 
Strada Nuova in L * *'s britchka, whence we had 
a fine view of Vesuvius. There are tremendous 
bursts of smoke from the crater. At one time the 
whole mountain, down to the very base, was almost 
enveloped, and the atmosphere around it loaded 
with the vapor, which seemed to issue in volumes 
half as large as the mountain itself. If horses are 
to be had we go up to-night. 

Monday night. — I am not in a humor to de» 
•cribe or give way to any poetical flights, but 



NAPLES. 215 

must endeavour to give a faithful, scber, and cu> 
cumstantial account of our last night's expedition, 
while the impression is yet fresh on my mind 
though there is, I think, little danger of my for- 
getting. We procured horses, which, from the 
number of persons proceeding on the same errand 
with ourselves, was a matter of some difficulty. We 
set out at seven in the evening in an open car- 
riage, and almost the whole way we had the 
mountain before us, spouting fire to a prodigious 
height. The road was crowded with groups of 
people who had come out from the city and en- 
virons to take a nearer view of the magnificent 
spectacle, and numbers were hurrying to and fro 
in those little flying corricoli which are peculiar to 
Naples. As we approached, the explosions be- 
came more and more vivid, and at every tre- 
mendous burst of fire our friend L * * jumped half 
off his seat, making most loud and characteristic 
exclamations, — " By Jove ! a magnificent fellow 1 
now for it, whizz ! there he goes, sky high, by 
George ! " The rest of the party were equally en- 
thusiastic in a different style ; and I sat silent and 
quiet from absolute inability to express wha J . I felt. 
I was almost breathless with wonder, and excite- 
ment, and impatience to be nearer the scene of 
action. While my eyes were fixed on the mountain, 
py attention was from time to time excited by 
regular rows of small shining lights, six or eight 
n n^r^aber, creeping, as it seemed, along the edge 



216 NAPLES. 

of the stieam of lava; and, when contrasted with 
the red blaze which rose behind, and the gigantic 
black background, looking like a procession of 
glow-worms. These were the torches of travellers 
ascending the mountain, and I longed to be one of 
them. 

We reached Resina a little before nine, and 
alighted from the carriage ; the ascent being so 
rugged and dangerous, that only asses and mules 
accustomed to the road are used. Two only were 
in waiting at the moment we arrived, which L * * 
immediately secured for me and himself; and 
though reluctant to proceed without the rest of the 
party, we were compelled to go on before, that we 
might not lose time, or hazard the loss of our 
monture. We set off then, each with two attend- 
ants, a man to lead our animals and a torch- 
bearer. The road, as we ascended, became more 
and more steep at every step, being over a stream 
of lava, intermixed with stones and ashes, and the 
darkness added to the difficulty. But how shall I 
describe the scene and the people who surrounded 
us ; the landscape partially lighted by a fearful 
red glare, the precipitous and winding road bor- 
dered by wild-looking gigantic aloes, projecting 
their huge spear-like leaves almost across our 
path, and our lazzaroni attendants with their shrill 
shouts, and strange dresses, and wild jargon* and 
Btriking features, and dark eyes flashing in the 
gleam of the torches, which they flung round theit 



21? 



heads to prevent their being extinguished, formed 
a scene so new, so extraordinary, so like romance, 
that my attention was frequently drawn from the 
mountain, though blazing in all its tumultuous 
magnificence. 

The explosions succeeded each other with ter- 
rific rapidity about two in every three minutes ; 
and the noise I can only compare to the roaring 
and hissing of ten thousand imprisoned winds, 
mingled at times with a rumbling sound like 
artillery, or distant thunder. It frequently hap- 
pened that the guides, in dashing their torches 
against the ground, set fire to the dried thorns and 
withered grass, and the blaze ran along the earth 
like wildfire, to the great alarm of poor L * *, who 
saw in every burning bush a stream of lava rushing 
to overwhelm us. 

Before eleven o'clock we reached the Her- 
mitage, situated between Vesuvius and the Som- 
ma, and the highest habitation on the mountain. 
A great number of men were assembled within, 
and guides, lazzaroni, servants, and soldiers, were 
lounging round. I alighted, for I was benumbed 
and tired, but did not like to venture among those 
people, and it was proposed that we should wait 
for the rest of our party a little further on. We 
accordingly left our donkeys and walked forward 
upon a kind of high ridge, which serves to fortify 
the Hermitage and its environs against the lava. 
(?rom this path, as we slowly ascended, we had a 



218 NAPLES. 

glorious view of the eruption ; and the whole 
scene around us, in its romantic interest and terri- 
ble magnificence, mocked all power of description 
There were, at this time, five distinct torrents of 
lava rolling down like streams of molten lead ; one 
of which extended above two miles below us, and 
was flowing towards Portici. The showers of red- 
hot stones flew up like thousands of sky-rockets: 
many of them being shot up perpendicularly, fell 
6ack into the crater, others falling on the outside, 
bounded down the side of the mountain with a 
velocity which would have distanced a horse at full 
speed : these stones were of every size, from two 
to ten or twelve feet in diameter. 

My ears were by this time wearied and stunned 
by the unceasing roaring and hissing of the flames, 
while my eyes were dazzled by the glare of the 
red, fierce light : now and then I turned them for 
relief to other features of the picture, to the black 
shadowy masses of the landscape stretched beneath 
us, and speckled with shining lights, which showed 
how many were up and watching that night ; and 
often to the calm vaulted sky above our heads, 
where thousands of stars, (not twinkling as through 
our hazy or frosty atmosphere, but shining out of 
" heaven's profoundest azure," with that soft steady 
brilliance peculiar to a highly rarefied medium,) 
looked down upon this frightful turmoil in ah* 
their bright and placid loveliness. Nor should I 
forget one other feature of a scene, on which ] 



21& 



. ooked wiih a painter's eye. Great numbers ^f the 
Austrian forces, now occupying Naples, were on 
the mountains, assembled in groups, some standing, 
Borne sitting, some stretched on the ground and 
wrapped in their cloaks, in various attitudes of 
amazement and admiration: and as the shadowy 
glare fell on their tall martial figures and glittering 
accoutrements, I thought I had never beheld any 
ching so wildly picturesque. 

The remainder of our party not yet appearing, 
we sent back for our asses and guides, and deter- 
mined to proceed. About half a mile beyond our 
companions came up, and here a division took 
place ; some agreeing to go forward, the rest turn- 
ing back to wait at the Hermitage. I was of 
course one of those who advanced. My spirits 
were again raised, and the grand object of all this 
daring and anxiety, was to approach near enough 
to a stream of lava to have some idea of its con- 
sistency, and the manner in which it flowed, or 
trickled down. The difficulties of our road now 
increased, "if road that might be called, which 
road was none," but black loose ashes, and masses 
of scoria and lava heaped in ridges, or broken into 
hollows in a manner not to be described. Even 
my animal, though used to *he path, felt his footing 
^t every step, and if the torch was by accident 
extinguished, he stopped, and nothing could make 
him move. My guide, Andrea, was very vigilant 
«nd attentive, and, in a few words of Italian he 



220 NAPLES. 

knew, encouraged me, and assured me there was 
no danger. I had, however, no fear : in fact, ] 
was infinite!/ too much interested to have been 
alive to danger, had it really existed. Salvador, 
well known to all who have visited Mount Vesu- 
vius, had been engaged by Mr. R. as his guide. 
He is the principal cicerone on the mountain. It 
is his business to despatch to the king every three 
hours, a regular account of the height of the erup- 
tion, the progress, extent, and direction of the lava, 
and, in short, the most minute particulars. He 
also corresponds, as he assured me, with Sir Hum- 
phry Davy ; * and is employed to inform him of 
every interesting phenomenon which takes place 
on the mountain. This man has resided at the 
foot of it, and been principal guide for thirty-three 
years, and knows every inch of its territory. 

As the lava had overflowed the usual footpath 
loading to that conical eminence which forms the 
summit of the mountain and the exterior of the 
crater, we were obliged to alight from our saga- 
cious steeds ; and, trusting to our feet, walked over 
the ashes for about a quarter of a mile. The path, 
or the ground rather, for there was no path, was 
now dangerous to the inexperienced foot; and 
Salvador gallantly took me under his peculiar care. 

* Was the letter addressed ' Alia Sua Excellenza Sero-mfridevif 
irhich caused so much perplexity at the Post-Office and British 
Museum, and exercised ihe acumen of a minister of state, from 
8&lv;?dor to his illustrious correspondent? 



»AH 221 

He led me on before the rest, and I followed with 
'.•onfidonce. Our object was to reach the edge of 
a stream of lava, formed of two cnrrenti united in 

a point. It was glowing with an intense heat; and 
flowing, not with such rapidity a- to alarm us, but 

rather slowly, and by fits and starts. Trickling, in 
short, is the word which expresses its motion : if one 
can fancy it applied to any object on so large a scale. 
At this time the eruption was at its extreme 
height. The column of fire was from a quarter to 
a third of a mile high ; and the stones wc.rc thrown 
up to the height of a mile and a quarter. I passed 
close to a roek about four feet in diameter, which 
had rolled down some time before : it was still red- 
hot, and I stopped to warm my hands at it. At a 
short distance from it lay another stone or rock, 
also red-hot, but six times the size. I walked on 
first with Salvador, till we were within a few yards 
of the lava — at this moment a prodigious stone, 
followed by two or three smaller ones, came rolling 
down upon us with terrific velocity. The gentle- 
men and guides all ran ; my first impulse was to 
run too ; but Salvador called to me to stop and 
see what direction the stone would take. I saw 
the reason of this advice, and stopped. In less 
than a second he seized my arm and hurried me 
back five or six yards. I heard the whizzing 
<K>und of the stone as it rushed down, behind me. 
A little farther on it met with an impediment, 
against which it bolted with such force, that it flew 



122 NAPLES. 

up into the air to a groat height, and toll in a 
shower at' red-hot fragments. All this passed in a 
moment : I have shuddered since when I have 
thought of that moment ; but at the time, I saw 
the danger without the slightest sensation of terror. 
I remember the ridiculous figures of the men, a? 
they scrambled over the ridges of scoria ; and was 
struck by Salvador's exclamation, who shouted to 
them, in a tone which would have become Csesai 
himself — tt Che tenia ! — Sono Salvador ! " * 

We did not attempt to turn back again, which 
I should have done without any hesitation if any 
one had proposed it. To have come thus far, and 
to be so near the object I had in view, and theu 
to run away at the first alarm! it was a little pro* 
yoking. The road was extremely dangerous in 
the descent. I was obliged to walk part of tho 
way, as the guides advised, and but tor Salvador 
and the interesting information he gave me from 
time to time, I think I should have been over- 
powered. He amused and fixed my attention, by 
his intelligent conversation, his assiduity, and solic- 
itude for my comfort, and the na'irete and selt- 
complacency with which his information was con- 
veyed. He told me he had visited Mount JEtna 
(en amateur) during the last great eruption of 
that mountain, and acknowledged Avith laudable 
candor that Vesuvius, in its grandest moments, 
was a mere bonfire in comparison : the whole com 
* Quid times ? &o. 



223 



af Vesuvius, ho said, was not larger Uian some of 
the masses of rock he had seen whirled from the 
crater of Mount. JEtna, and rolling down its sides. 
He frequently made rne stop and look hack : and 
here I should observe that our guides seemed as 
proud of the performances of the mountain, and 
as anxious to show it off to the best advantage, as 
the keeper of a menagerie is of the tricks of his 
dancing bear, or the proprietor of " Solomon in 
all his glory " of his raree-show. Their enthu- 
eiastic shouts and exclamations would have kept 
up my interest had it flagged. " O veda, Signora I 
O bella ! O stupenda ! " The last great burst of 
fire was accompanied by a fresh overflow of lava, 
which issued from the crater, on the west side, in 
two broad streams, and united a few hundred feet 
below, taking the direction of Torre del Greco. 
After this explosion the eruption subsided, and the 
mountain seemed to repose : now and then show- 
ers of stones flew up, but to no great height, and 
unaccompanied by any vivid flames. There was 
a dull red light over the mouth of the crater, 
round which the smoke rolled in dense tumultuous 
volumes, and then blew oflf towards the southwest. 
After a slow and difficult descent, we reached 
the Hermitage. I was so exhausted that I was 
glad to rest for a few minutes. My good friend 
Salvador brought me a glass of Lachryrna Christ* 
und the leg of a chicken ; and with recruited 
spirits we mounted our animals and again started. 



224 NAPLES. 

The descent was infinitely more slow and dim 
eult than the ascent, and much more trying to the 
nerves. I had not Salvador at my side, nor the 
mountain before me, to beguile me from my fears 
at length I prevailed on one of our attendants, a 
fine tall figure of a man, to sing to me ; and though 
he had been up the moun ain six times in the 
course of the day, he sang delightfully and with 
great spirit and expression, as he strided along 
with his hand upon my bridle, accompanied by a 
magnificent rumbling bass from the mountain, 
which every now and then drowned the melody 
^>f his voice, and made me start. It was past three 
when we reached Resina, and nearly five when we 
got home : yet I rose this morning at my usual 
hour, and do not feel much fatigued. About 
twelve to-day I saw Mount Vesuvius, looking as 
quiet and placid as the first time I viewed it. 
There was little smoke, and neither the glowing 
lava nor the flames were visible in the glare of the 
sunshine. The atmosphere was perfectly clear, 
and as I gazed, almost misdoubting my senses, I 
could scarcely believe in the reality of the tremen- 
dous scene I had witnessed but a few hours be- 
fore. 

26. — The eruption burst forth again to-day, and 
is exceedingly grand ; though not equal to what it 
was on Sunday night. The smoke rises from the 
irater in dense black masses, and the wind having 
veered a few points to the southward, it is now 



NAPLES. 225 

driven in the direction of Naples. At the moment 
I write this, the skies are obscured by rolling 
vapors, and the sun, which is now setting just op- 
posite to Vesuvius, shines, as I have seen him 
through a London mist, red, and shorn of his 
beams. The sea is angry and discolored ; the 
day most oppressively sultry, and the atmosphere 
thick, sulphureous, and loaded with an almost im- 
palpable dust, which falls on the paper as I write. 
March 4. — We have had delicious weather al- 
most ever since we arrived at Naples, but these 
last three days have been perfectly heavenly. I 
never saw or felt any thing like the enchantment 
of the earth, air, and skies. The mountain has 
been perfectly still, the atmosphere without a sin- 
gle cloud, the fresh verdure bursting forth all 
around us, and every breeze visits the senses, as ii 
laden with a renovating spirit of life, and wafted 
from Elysium. Whoever would truly enjoy nature, 
should see her in this delicious land : " Ou la plus 
douce nuit succede au plus beau jour ; " for here 
she seems to keep holiday all the year round. To 
stand upon my balcony, looking out upon the sun- 
shine, and the glorious bay ; the blue sea, and the 
pure skies — and to feel that indefinite sensation of 
excitement, that swperfiu de. vie, quickening every 
pulse and thrilling through every nerve, is a pleas- 
ure peculiar to this climate, where the mere con- 
sciousness of existence is happiness enough. Then 
evening comes on, lighted by a moon and starry 
15 



226 NAPLES. 

heavens, whose softness, richness, and splendor 
are not to be conceived by those who have lived 
always in the vapory atmosphere of England — 
dear England ! I love, like an Englishwoman, its 
fireside enjoyments, and homefelt delights: an 
English drawing-room with all its luxurious com- 
forts — carpets and hearth-rugs, curtains let down, 
sofas wheeled round, and a group of family faces 
round a blazing fire, is a delightful picture ; but 
for the languid frame, and the sick heart, give me 
this pure elastic air " redolent of spring ; w this 
reviving sunshine and all the witchery of these 

deep blue skies ! — 

***** 

Numbers of people set off post-haste from Rome 
to see the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, and arrived 
here Wednesday and Thursday ; just time enough 
to be too late. Among them our Roman friend 
Frattino, who has afforded me more amusement 
than all our other acquaintance together, and de- 
serves a niche in my gallery of characters. 

Frattino is a young Englishman, who, if he were 
in England, would probably be pursuing his studies 
at Eton or Oxford, for he is scarce past the age of 
boyhood ; but having been abroad since he was 
twelve years old, and early plunged into active 
and dissipated life, he is an accomplished man of 
fashion, and of the world, with as many airs and 
caprices as a spoiled child. He is by far the moat 
beautiful creature of his sex I ever saw ; so like th« 



NAPLES. 227 

Antinous, that at Rome lie went by that na^A, 
The exquisite regularity of his features, the grace- 
ful air of his head, his antique curls, the faultless 
proportions of his elegant figure, make him a thing 
to he gazed on, as one looks at a statue. Then he 
possesses talents, wit, taste, and information : the 
most polished and captivating manners, where he 
wishes to attract, — high honor and generosity, 
where women are not concerned, — and all the ad- 
vantages attending on rank and wealth ; but under 
this fascinating exterior, I suspect our Frattino to 
be a very worthless, as well as a v^ry unhappy 
being. While he pleases, he repels me. There is 
a want of heart about him, a want of fixed princi- 
ples — a degree of profligacy, of selfishness, of fickle- 
ness, caprice, and ill-temper, and an excess of 
vanity, which all his courtly address and savoir 
faire cannot hide. What would be insufferable in 
another, is in him bearable, and even interesting 
and amusing : such is the charm of manner. But 
all this cannot last ; and I should not be surprised 
to see Frattino, a few years hence, emerge from 
his foreign frippery, throw aside his libertine folly, 
assume his seat in the senate, and his rank in Brit- 
ish society ; and be the very character he now 
affects to despise and ridicule — " a true-bred Eng- 
lishman, who rides a thorough-bred horse." 
***** 

Our excursion to Pompeii yesterday was " a 
j>m-nic party of pleasure," a VAnglaise. Now a 



228 NAPLES 

party of pleasure is proverbially a bore , and oat 
expedition was in the beginning so unpromising, 
bo mismanaged — our party so numerous, and com- 
posed of such a heterogeneous mixture of opposite 
tempers, tastes, and characters, that I was in pain 
for the result. The day. however, turned out 
more pleasant than I expected : exterior polish 
supplied the want of something better, and our 
e-xcursion had its pleasures, though they were not 
such as I should have sought at Pompeii. I felt 
myself a simple unit among many, and found it 
easier to sympathize with others, than to make a 
dozen others sympathize with me. 

We were twelve in number, distributed in three 
light barouches, and reached Pompeii in about 
two hours and a half — passing by the foot of Vesu- 
vius, through Portiei, Torre del Greco, and l'An- 
nonziata. The streams of lava, which overwhelmed 
Torre del Greco in 1 794, are still black and barren ; 
but the town itself is rising from its ruins ; and the 
very lava which destroyed it serves as the material 
Jo rebuild it. 

We entered Pompeii by the street of the tombs : 
near them are the semicircular seats, so admirably 
adapted for conversation, that I wonder we have 
not sofas on a similar plan, and similar scale. I 
need not dwell on particulars, which are to be 
found in every book of travels : on the whole, my 
expectations were surpassed, though my curiosity 
was not half gratified. 



NAPLES. 22S 

The most interesting thing I saw — in fact the 
only thing, for which paintings and descriptions 
had not previously prepared me, was a building 
which has been excavated within the last fortnight; 
it is only partly laid open, and laborers are now 
at work upon it. Antiquarians have not yet pro- 
nounced on its name and design; but I should 
imagine it to be some public edifice, perhaps 
dedicated to religious purposes. The paintings on 
the walls are the finest which have yet been dis- 
covered : they are exquisitely and tastefully de- 
signed ; and though executed merely for effect, 
that effect is beautiful. I remarked one female 
figure in the act of entering a half-open door : she 
is represented with pencils and a palette of colors 
in her hand, similar to those which artists now use : 
another very graceful female holds a lyre of pecu- 
liar construction. These, I presume, were two of 
the muses : the rest remained hidden. There 
were two small panels occupied by sea-pieces, 
with galleys ; and two charming landscapes, so well 
colored, and drawn with such knowledge of per- 
spective and effect, that, if we may form a com- 
parative idea of the best pictures from these speci- 
mens of taste and skill in mere house-painting, the 
ancients must have excelled us as much in painting 
as in sculpture. I remarked on the wall of an 
entrance or corridor, a dog starting at a wreathed 
and crested snake, vividly colored, and full of 
spirit and expression. While I lingered here a 



ISO 



behind the rest, and most reluciant to depart, 
i.no up to me, and sc. 
mv dress, pointed to .v corner, .md made signs thai 
he had something to shew me. I followed him to 
a spot where :v quantity of dust and ushes was 
■■si a wall. He be :w.iv 

this heap ot' dirt with hands and nails, much after 
the BQ • .v ; \'.^\cr\ uow and then looking up 

in my t'aee and grinning. The impediment being 
&d .nvnv, there appeared on the wall behind, 
a most beautiful aerial figure with dealing dra.' 
representing either Fame or Victory : but before 
: time te examine it, the little rogue thing 
. up again so as to conceal it completely, then 
ing significantly at the other workmen, he 
nodded, shrugged, gesticulated, and held out both 
his paws for a recompense, which I gave him will- 
ingly ; at the same time laughing and shaking tuy 
head to show I understood his knavery. I re- 
warded him apparently beyond his hopes, tor he 
-ved me down the street, bowing, grinning, and 
cutting capers like a young savage. 

The streets of Pompeii are narrow, the houses 
are very small, and the rooms, though often deco- 
rated with exquisite taste, are constructed without 
any regard to what IM should term comfort and 
rGuvenienee ; they are dark, confined, and seldom 
communicate with each other, but have a general 
communication with a portico, running round a 
central court. litis court is in general beautit'ullr 



231 



paved with mosaic, having a fountain or basin in 
the middle, and possibly answered the purpose of 
a drawing-room. It is evident that the ancient 
inhabitants of this lovely country, lived like their 
descendants mostly in the open air, and met to- 
gether in their public walks, or in the forums, 
and theatres. If they saw company, the guests 
probably assembled under the porticos, or in the 
court round the fountain. The houses seem con- 
structed on the same principle as birds construct 
their nests ; as places of retreat and shelter, rather 
than of assemblage and recreation : the grand ob- 
ject was to exclude the sunbeams ; and this, which 
gives such gloomy and chilling ideas in our northern 
climes, must here have been delicious. 

Hurried on by a hungry, noisy, merry party, we 
at length reached the Caserna, (the ancient bar- 
racks, or, as Forsyth will have it, the prsetorium.) 
The central court of this building has been con- 
verted into a garden : and here, under a seeping 
willow, our dinner-table was spread. Wh^re Eng- 
lishmen are, there will be good cheer if possible ; 
and our banquet was in truth most luxurious. Be- 
sides more substantial cates, we had oysters from 
Lake Lucrine, and classically excellent they were ; 
London bottieu porter, and half a dozen different 
kinds of wine. Our dinner went off most gayly, 
6ut no order was kept afterwards : the purpose of 
our expedition seemed to be forgotten in general 
turth : many witty things were said and done, and 



232 NAPLES. 

many merry ones, and not a tew silly ones. We 
visited the beautiful public walk and the platform 
of the old temple of Hercules ; (I call it old, be- 
cause it was a ruin when Pompeii was entire :) the 
Temple of Isis, the Theatres, the Forum, the Basi- 
lica, the Amphitheatre, which is in a perfect state of 
preservation, and more elliptical in form than any 
of those I have yet seen, and the School of Elo- 
quence, where R * * mounted the rostrum, ami gave 
us an oration extempore, equally pithy, classical, 
and comical. About sunset we got into the car- 
riages, and returned to Naples. 

Of all the heavenly days we have had since we 
came to Naples, this has been the most heavenly; 
and of all the lovely scenes I have beheld in Italy, 
what I saw to-day has most enchanted my senses 
and imagination. The view from the eminence on 
winch the old temple stood, and which was an- 
ciently the public promenade, was splendidly beau- 
tiful: the whole landscape was at one time over- 
flowed with light and sunshine ; and appeared as 
If seen through an impalpable but dazzling veil. 
Towards evening the outlines became more dis- 
tinct : the little white towns perched upon the hills, 
the gentle sea, the fairy island of Rivegliano with 
its old tower, the smoking crater of Vesuvius, the 
bold forms of Mount Laetarius and Cape Minerva. 
Itood out full and clear under the cloudless sky 
as we returned, I saw the sun sink behind Capri, 
which appeared by some optical illusion like a 



233 



glorious crimson transparency suspended above the 

horizon : the sky, the earth, the sea, irere flushed 
wit.h the richest rose-color, •'Wch gradually soft- 
ened and darkened into purple: the short twilight 
faded away, and the full moon, ruing over Ve- 
suvius, lighted up the scenery with a softer radi- 
ance. 

Thus ended a flay which was not without its 

pleasures; — yet bad I planned a party of pleasure 
to Pompeii, methinks I could hare managed better. 
/'ar exemple, I would have deferred it a fortnight 

later, or till the vines were in leaf; I would have 
Chosen for my companions two or at most three 
persons whom I could name, whose cultivated 
minds and happy temper* would have heightened 
their own enjoyment and mine. After spending a 
few hours in taking a general view of the whole 
city, we would have sat down on the platform of 
the old Greek Temple which commands a view 
of the mountains and the bay; or, if the heat were 
too powerful, under the shade of the bill near it. 
There we would make our cheerful and elegant 
repast, on bread and fruits, and perhaps a bottle 
of Malvoisie or Champagne; the rest of the day 
should be devoted to a minute examination of the 
principal objects of interest and curiosity: we 
would wait till the shadows of evening had begun 
tea] over the scene, purpling the mountains and 
ihe sea; we would linger there to enjoy all the 
'plendors of an Italian sunsei , and then, with 



234 NAPLES. 

minds softened and elevated by the loveliness and 
lolemnity of the scenes around, we would get into 
our carriage, and drive back to Naples beneath the 
bright full moon ; and, by the way, we would " talk 
the flowing heart," and make our recollections of 
the olden time, our deep impressions of the past, 
heighten our enjoyment of the present : and this 
would be indeed a day of pleasure, of such pleasure 
as I think I am capable of feeling — of imparting — 
of remembering with unmixed delight. Such was 
not yesterday. 

***** 
M * * brought with him this evening for our 
amusement, an old man, a native of Cento, who 
gains his livelihood by a curious exhibition of his 
peculiar talents. He is blind, and plays well on 
the violin : he can recite the whole of the Gerusa- 
lemme from beginning to end without missing a 
word : he can repeat any given stanza or number 
of stanzas either forwards or backwards : he can 
repeat the last words one after another of any 
stanza or stanzas : if you give him the first word 
and the last, he can name immediately the particu- 
lar line, stanza, and book: lastly, he can tell 
instantly the exact number of words contained in 
any given stanza. This exhibition was at first 
amusing ; but as I soon found that the man's head 
Was a mere machine, that he was destitute of 
imagination, and that far from feeling the beauty 
of the poet, he did not even understand the mean* 



NAPLES. 235 

ing of the lines he thus repeated up and down, 
and backwards and forwards, it ceased to interest 
me, after the first sensations of surprise and 
curiosity were over. 

***** 

After I had read Italian with Signior B * * this 
evening, he amused me exceedingly by detailing 
to me the plan of two tragedies he is now writing 
or about to write. He has already produced one 
piece on the story of Boadicea, which is rather a 
drama than a regular tragedy. It was acted here 
with great success. After giving his drama due 
praise, I described to him the plan and characters 
of Fletcher's Bonduca ; and attempted to give 
him in Italian some idea of the most striking 
scenes of that admirable play : he was alternately 
in enchantment and despair, and I thought he 
would have torn and bitten his Boadicea to pieces, 
in the excess of his vivacity. 

The subject of one of his tragedies is to be the 
Sicilian Vespers. Casimir de la Vigne, who wrote 
Les Vepres Siciliennes, which obtained some years 
ago such amazing popularity at Paris, and in which 
the national vanity of the French is flattered at the 
expense of the Italians, received a pension from 
Louis XVIII. B * * spoke with contempt of 
Casimir de la Vigne's tragedy, and with indigna- 
tion of what he called " his wilful misrepresentation 
of history." He is determined to give the reverse 
of the picture : the French will be represented ai 



236 NAPLES. 

u gentc crudeli — tiranni — oppressori senza fede '" 
Giovanni di Procida, as a hero and patriot, a 
V antique, and the Sicilians as rising in defence 
of their freedom and national honor. The other 
tragedy is to be founded on the history of the 
famous Congiura dei Baroni in the reign of Ferdi- 
nand the First, as related by Giannone. The 
simple facts of this history need not any ornaments, 
borrowed from invention or poetry, to form a most 
interesting tale, and furnish ample materials for a 
beautiful tragedy, in incident, characters, and 
situations. B * * is a little man, dwarfish and 
almost deformed in person ; but full of talent, 
spirit, and enthusiasm. I asked him why he did 
not immediately finish these tragedies, which ap- 
peared from the sketches he had given me, so 
admirably calculated to succeed. He replied, that 
under the present regime, he dared not write up to 
his own conceptions ; and if he curbed his genius, 
he could do nothing ; " besides," added he mourn- 
fully, " I have no time ; — I am poor — poverissimo 1 
I must work hard all to-day to supply the wants 
of to-morrow : I am already surveille by the police, 
is a known liberal and literato" " Davvero" 
added he gayly, " I would soon do, or say, or write 
something to attract the honor of their more par- 
ticular notice, if I could be certain they would 
only imprison me for a couple of years, and ensure 
me during that time a blanket, bread, and watei 
and the uso of pen and ink : then I would write 



NAPLES. 237 

I would write ! dalla mattina alia sera ; and thank 
my jailers as my best friends : but pens are poig- 
nards, ink is poison in the eyes of the present 
government ; imprisorment for life, or banishment, 
is the least I could expect. Now the mere idea of 
imprisonment for life would kill me in a week, and 
banishment ! — Ah lungi dalla mia bella Patria, 
come cantare ! come scrivere ! come vivere ! moriro 
io anzi neW momento di partire ! " 

* * * * * 

I drove to-day, tete-a-tete with Laura, to the 
Lago d'Agnano ; about a mile and a half beyond 
Pausilippo. This lovely fair lake is not more than 
two miles in circuit ; and embosomed in romantic 
woody hills : innumerable flocks of wild fowl were 
skimming over its surface, and gave life and motion 
to the beautiful but quiet landscape. While we 
were wandering here, enjoying the stillness and 
solitude, so delightfully contrasted with the unceas- 
ing noise, bustle, and crowd of the city, the charm 
was rudely broken by the appearance of the king ; 
who, attended by a numerous party of his guards 
and huntsmen, had been wild boar shooting in the 
neighbouring woods. The water-fowl, scared by the 
report of fire-arms, speedily disappeared, and the 
guards shouted to each other, and galloped round 
the smooth sloping banks ; cutting up the turf with 
their horses' hoofs, and deforming the whole scene 
with uproar, confusion, and affright. Devoutly 
did I wish them all twenty miles off. The famous 



23S 



Grotto del Cane is on the south bank of the lake, a 
few yards from the edge of the water. We saw 
the torch, when held in the vapor, instantaneously 
extinguished. The ground all round the entrance 
of the grotto is hot to the touch; and when I 
plunged my hand into the deleterious gas, which 
rises about a foot or a foot and a half above the 
surface of the ground, it "was so Mann I was glad to 
withdraw it. The disagreeable old woman who 
showed us this place, brought with her a wretched 
dog with a rope round his neck, bleared eyes, thin 
ribs, and altogether of a most pitiful aspect. She 
was anxious to exhibit the common but cruel ex- 
periment of suspended animation, by holding his 
head over the mephitic vapor, insisting that he was 
accustomed to it, and even liked it : of course, we 
would not suffer it. The poor animal made no 
resistance ; only drooped his head, and put his tail 
between his legs, when his tyrant attempted to 
seize him. 

Though now so soft, so lovely, and so tranquil, 
the Lago d'Agnano owes its existence to some ter- 
rible convulsion of the elements. The basin is the 
crater of a sunken volcano, which, bursting forth 
here, swallowed up a whole city. And the whole 
region round, bears evident marks of its volcanic 
origin. 

Tliis morning we visited several churches, not 
one of them worthy of a remark. The architec- 



NAPLES. 239 

hire is invariably in the vilest taste; and the 
interior decorations, if possible, still worse : white- 
washing, gilding, and gaudy colors, every where 
prevail. We saw, however, some good pictures. 
At the San Gennaro are the famous frescos of 
Domenichino and Lanfranco : the church itself is 
hideous. At the Girolomini there is no want of 
magnificence and ornament ; but a barbarous mis- 
application of both as usual. The church of the 
convent of Santa Chiara was painted in fresco by 
Ghiotto : it is now white-washed all over. The 
tomb of the murdered Queen Joanna, who was 
buried here, is one of the most interesting objects 
in Naples. At this church, which I first visited 
during the merry days of the carnival, I saw a 
large figure of our Saviour suspended on the cross, 
dressed in a crimson domino, and blue sash. To 
what a pitch, thought I, must the love of white- 
washing and masquerading be carried in this 
6trange city, where the Deity himself is burlesqued, 
and bad taste is carried to profanation ! 

The church of San Severo is falling to ruins, 
owing to some defect in the architecture. It is 
only remarkable for containing three celebrated 
statues. The man enveloped in a net, and the 
Pudicita, draped frcm head to foot, pleased me 
only as specimens of th« patience and ingenuity 
of the sculptor. The dead Christ covn od with a 
veil, by Corradini, has a merit of a higher class : 
it is most painful to look upon ; and affecnju me so 



240 NAPLES. 

strongly, that I was obliged to leave the church, 
and go into the air. 

I went to-day with two agreeable and intelligent 
friends, to take leave of the Studio and the Museum. 
I have often resolved not to make my little journal 
a mere catalogue of objects, which are to be found 
in any pocket guide, and bought for a few pence . 
but I cannot resist the temptation of making a few 
notes of admiration and commemoration, for my 
own peculiar use. 

The Gallery of Painting contains few pictures 
but among them are some master-pieces. The 
St. John of Leonardo da Yinci, (exquisite as it is, 
considered as a mere painting,) provoked me. I am 
sick of his eternal simpering face : the aspect is that 
of a Ganymede or a young Bacchus ; and if instead 
of Ecce Agnus Dei, they had written over it, Ecce 
Vinum bonum, all would have been in character. 

How I coveted the beautiful " Carita," the Capo 
d'Opera of Schidone ! — and next to it, Parmegiano's 
mistress — a delicious picture. A portrait of Colum- 
bus, said to be by the same master, is not like him, 
I am sure ; for the physiognomy is vacant and dis- 
agreeable. Domenichino's large picture of the 
Angel shielding Innocence from a Demon, pleases 
me, as all his pictures do — but not perfectly : the 
devil in the corner, with his fork, and hoofs, and 
horns, shocks my taste as a ludicrous and vulgar 
idea, far removed from poetry ; but the figure of 
the angel stretching a shield over the infant, it 



NAPLES. 241 

cLarming. There are also two fine Claudes, two 
Holy Families, by Raffaelle, in his sweetest style ; 
and one by Correggio, not less beautiful. 

The Gallery of Sculpture is so rich in chef- 
d'oeuvres, that to particularize would be a vain 
attempt. Passing over those which every one knows 
by heart, the statue of Aristides struck me most. 
It was found in Herculaneum ; and is marked with 
ferruginous stains, as if by the action of fire or the 
burning lava ; but it is otherwise uninjured, and 
the grave, yet graceful simplicity of the figure and 
attitude, and the extreme elegance of the drapery, 
are truly Grecian. It is the union of power with 
repose — of perfect grace with perfect simplicity, 
which distinguishes the ancient from the modern 
style of sculpture. The sitting Agrippina, for 
example, furnished Canova with the model for his 
statue of Madame Letitia; the two statues are, 
in point of fact, nearly the same, except that Ca- 
nova has turned Madame Letitia's head a little 
on one side ; and by this single and trifling altera- 
tion has destroyed that quiet and beautiful sim- 
plicity which distinguishes the original, and given 
his statue at once a modern air. 

The Flora Farnese is badly placed, in a space 
too confined for its size, and too near the eye : so 
that the exquisite harmony and delicacy of the 
figure are partly lost in its colossal proportions : it 
should be placed at the end of a long gallery or vista. 

There is here a statue of Nero when he waa 
16 



242 



ten years old ; from which it would seem that lie 
was not by nature the monster he afterwardi 
became. The features are beautiful ; and the 
expression all candor and sweetness. 

One statue struck me exceedingly — not by the 
choice of the subject, nor the beauty of the work- 
manship, but from its wonderful force of expres- 
sion. It is a dying gladiator ; but very different 
from the gladiator of the capitol. The latter 
declines gradually, and sickens into death; but 
memory and feeling are not yet extinct ; and what 
thoughts may pass through that brain while life 
is thus languishing away ; what emotions may yet 
dwell upon the last beatings of that heart! it is 
the sentiment which gives such profound pathos to 
that matchless statue ; but the gladiator of the 
Studii has only physical expression : it is sudden 
death in all its horrors : the figure is still erect, 
though the mortal blow has been given : the sword 
has dropt from the powerless hand : the limbs are 
stiffening in death ; the eyes are glazed ; the 
features fixed in an expression of mortal agony 
\nd in another moment you expect the figure to 
fall at your feet. 

The Venus, the Hercules, the Atlas, the An- 
tinous, (not equal to that in the capitol,) the Gany- 
mede, the Apollo, the equestrian statues of the 
two Balbi, &c. are all familiar to my imagination, 
from the numerous copies and models I have seen 
but the most interesting department of the Mi^ 



NAPLES. 243 

ieum is the collection of antiques fro*n Hercu- 
laneum and Pompeii, which have lately been 
removed hither from Portici. One room containa 
specimens of cooking utensils, portable kitchens, 
tripods, instruments of sacrifice, small bronze 
Lares and Penates, urns, lamps, and candelabras 
of the most elegant forms, and the most exquisite 
workmanship. Another room contains specimens 
of ancient armor, children's toys, &c. I remarked 
here a helmet which I imagine formed part of a 
trophy ; or at least was intended for ornament 
rather than use. It is exceedingly heavy ; and 
on it is represented, in the most exquisite relievo, 
the War of Troy. Benvenuto Cellini himself 
never produced any thing equal to the chased 
work on this helmet. 

In a third room is the paraphernalia of a lady's 
toilet; mirrors of different sizes, fragments of 
combs, a small crystal box of rouge, &c. Then 
follow flutes and pipes, all carved out of bone, 
surgical instruments, moulds for pastry, sculptors' 
tools, locks and keys, bells, &c. 

The room containing the antique glass, astonished 
me more than any thing else. I knew that glass 
was an ancient invention ; but I thought that its 
application to domestic purposes was of modern 
date. Here I found window panes, taken from the 
Villa of Diomed at Pompeii ; bottles of every size 
and form, white and colored ; pitchers and 
necklaces ; imitatiocs of gems, &c. 



144 NAPLES. 

Their is a little jeu d'esprit of Ycltairt's "La 
Toilette de "Madame de Pompadour," in which he 
wittily exalts the moderns above the ancients, and 
ridicules their ignorance of the luxuries and com- 
forts of life : but Voltaire had not seen the museum 
of Portici. We can add few distinct articles to the 
list of comforts and luxuries it contains; though it 
must be confessed that we have improved upon 
them, and varied them ad infinitum. In those 
departments of the mechanics which are in any 
way connected with the tine arts, the indents 
appear to have attained perfection. To them 
belongs the invention of all that embellishes lite, 
of all the graceful forms of imitative art, varied 
with such exquisite taste, such boundless fertility 
of fancy, that nothing is let't to us but to refine 
upon their ideas, and copy their creations. AVith 
all our new invented machines, and engines, we 
can do little more than what the ancients per- 
formed without them. 

I ought not to forget one room containing some 
objects, more curious and amusing than beautiful, 
principally from Pompeii, such as loaves of bread, 
reduced to a black cinder, figs in the same state, 
grain of different kinds, colors from a painter's 
room, ear-rings and bracelets, gems, specimens of 
mosaic, fa See. 

* * * * * 

Ifarch 7. — Frattiuo brought me to-day the lasf 
numbers of the Edinburgh and Quarterly Ke» 



NAPLES. 245 

♦iews : a great treat so far from home. Both 
contain some clever essays : among them, an 
article on prisons, in the Edinburgh, interested me 
most. 

Methinks these two Reviews stalk through the 
literary world, like the two giants in Pulci's Mor- 
gante Maggiore : the one pounding, slaying, man- 
gling, despoiling with blind fury, like the heavy 
orthodox club-armed Morgante ; the other, like 
the sneering, witty, half-pagan, half-baptized Mar- 
gutte, slashing and cutting, and piercing through 
thick and thin : a tort et a travers. Truly the 
simile is more apropos than I thought when it first 
occurred to me. 

I went the other day to a circulating library 
and reading-room kept here by a little cross French 
woman, and asked to see a catalogue. She showed 
me, first, a list of all the books, Italian, French, 
and English, she was allowed to keep and sell : it 
was a thin pamphlet of about one hundred pages. 
She then showed me the catalogue of prohibited 
books, which was at least as thick as a good-sized 
octavo. The book to which I wished to refer 
was the second volume of Robertson's Charles the 
Fifth. After some hesitation, Madame P * * led 
me into a back room; and opening a sliding 
panel, discovered a shelf let into the wall, on 
which were arranged a number of forbidden au- 
thors, chiefly English and French. I was not 
surprised to find Rousseau and Voltaire among 



246 NAPLES. 

Ihem ; but am still at a loss to guess what Robertson 
has done or written to entitle him to a place in 
such select company. 

8^. — Forsyth might well say that Naples haa 
no parallel on earth. Viewed from the sea it 
appears like an amphitheatre of palaces, temples 
and castles, raised one above another, by the 
wand of a necromancer : viewed within, Naples 
gives me the idea of a vast Bartholomew fair. 
No street in London is ever so crowded as I have 
Been the streets of Naples It is a crowd which 
has no pause or cessation : early in the morning, 
late at night, it is ever the same. The whole 
population seems poured into the streets and 
squares; all business and amusement is carried 
on in the open air : all those minute details of 
domestic life, which, in England, are confined 
within the sacred precincts of ho?ne, are here dis- 
played to public view. Here people buy and sell, 
and work, wash, wring, brew, bake, fry, dress, eat, 
drink, sleep, &c. &c, all in the open streets. We 
see every hour such comical, indescribable, ap- 
palling sights ; such strange figures, such wild 
physiognomies, picturesque dresses, attitudes and 
groups — and eyes — no ! I never saw such eyes 
before, as I saw to-day, half languor and half fire, 
in the head of a ruffian Lazzarone, and a ragged 
Calabrian beggar girl. They would have embrase 
half London or Paris. 

I know not whether it be incipient illness, or th* 



NAPLES. 247 

enervating effects of this soft climate, but I feel 
unusually weak, and the least exertion or excite- 
ment is not only disagreeable but painful. While 
the rest were at Capo di Monte, I stood upon my 
balcony looking out upon the lovely scene before 
me, with a kind of pensive dreamy rapture, which 
if not quite pleasure, had at least a power to 
banish pain: and thus hours passed away insen- 
sibly — 

" As if the moving time had been 
A thing as steadfast as the scene, 
On which we gazed ourselves away." * 

All my activity of mind, all my faculties of 
thought and feeling and suffering, seemed lost and 
swallowed up in an indolent delicious reverie, a 
sort of vague and languid enjoyment, the true 
" dolce far niente " of this enchanting climate. 
I stood so long leaning on my elbow without 
moving, that my arm has been stiff* all day in 
consequence. 

" How I wish," said I this evening, when they 
drew aside the curtain, that I might view the 
sunset from my sofa, and sky, earth, and ocean, 
seemed to commingle in floods of glorious light — 
"how I wish I could transport those skies to 
England ! " Cruelle ! exclaimed an Italian behind 
me, otez nous noire beau del, tout est perdu pour 
kous I 

***** 

•Wordsworth. 



M8 VELLETRI. 



THE LAST EVENING AT NAPLES. 

Yes, Laura ! draw the shade aside 
And let me gaze — while yet I may, 

Upon that gently-heaving tide, 
Upon that glorious sun-lit bay. 

Land of Eomance ! enchanting shore ! 

Fair scenes, near which 1 linger yet ! 
Never shall I behold ye more, 

Never this last — last look forget ! 

What though the clouds that o'er me lour 
Have tinged ye with a mournful hue, 

Deep in my heart I felt your power, 
And bless ye, while I sigh — Adieu ! 

Velletri, March 13. 
It is now a week since I opened my little book 
Ever since the 9th I have been seriously ill ; and 
yesterday morning I left Naples still low and 
much indisposed, but glad of a change which 
should substitute any external excitement, how- 
ever painful, to that unutterable dying away of the 
heart and paralysis of the mind which I have 
suffered for some days past. When we turned 
into the Strada Chiaja, and I gave a last glance at 
the magnificent bay and the shores all resplendent 
with golden light, I could ahnost have exclaimed 
•like Eve, " must I then leave thee Paradise ! " and 
dropped a few natural tears — tears of weakness, 
rather than of grief; for what do I leave behind 
toe worthy one emotion of regret ? Even at Naples, 



VELLETM. 249 

even in this all-lovely land, " fit haunt for gods," 
has it not been with me as it has been elsewhere ? 
as long as the excitement of change and novelty 
lasts, my heart can turn from itself " to luxuriate 
with indifferent things : " but it cannot last long : 
and when it is over, I suffer, I am ill : the past 
returns with tenfold gloom; interposing like a 
dark shade between me and every object : an evil 
power seems to reside in every thing I see, to tor- 
ment me with painful associations, to perplex my 
faculties, to irritate and mock me with the percep- 
tion of what is lost to me: the very sunshine 
sickens me, and I am forced to confess myself 
weak and miserable as ever. O time ! how slowly 
you move ! how little you can do for me ! and 
how bitter is that sorrow which has no relief to 
hope but from time alone ! 

Last night we reached Mola di Gaeta, which 
looked even more beautiful than before, in the 
3yes of all but one, whose senses were blinded and 
dulled by dejection, lassitude, and sickness. When 
I felt myself passively led along the shore, placed 
where the eye might range at freedom over the 
living and rejoicing landscape — when I heard 
myself repeating mechanically the exclamations 
of others, and felt no ray of beauty, no sense of 
pleasure penetrate to my heart — shall I own, even 
to myself, the mixture of anguish and terror with 
which I shrunk bacK, conscious of the waste within 
ai e? The conviction that now it was aJl over 



250 VELLETRI. 

that the last and only pleasures hitherto left to me 
had perished, that my mind was contracted by the 
selfishness of despondency, and my quick spirit of 
enjoyment utterly subdued into apathy, gave me 
for a moment a pang sharper than if a keen knife 
had cut me to the quick ; and then I relapsed into 
a kind of torpid languor of mind and frame which 
I thought was resignation, and as such indulged it. 

From my bed this morning I stepped out upon 
my balcony just as the sun was rising. I wished 
to convince myself whether the beauty on which 
I had lately looked with such admiration and 
delight, had indeed lost all power to touch my 
heart. The impression made upon my mind at 
that instant I can only compare to the rolling away 
of a palpable and suffocating cloud: every thing 
on which I looked had the freshness and bright- 
ness of novelty : a glory beyond its own was again 
diffused over the enchanting scene from the stores 
of my own imagination : the sea breeze which 
blew against my temples new-strung every nerve 
and I left Mola with a heart so lightened and so 
grateful, that not for hours afterwards, not till 
fatigue and hurry had again wearied down my 
spirits, did that impression of happy thankfulness 
pass away. 

I am sensible I owed this sudden renovation of 
health solely to the contemplation of Nature ; and 
a true feeling for all the " maggior pompa " she 
nas poured forth over this glorious region. The 



VELLETRI. 251 

shores of Terracina, the azure sea, dancing in the 
breeze, the waves rolling to our feet, the sublime 
cliffs, the fleet of forty sail stretching away till lost 
in the blaze of the horizon, the Circean promon- 
tory, even the picturesque fisherman, whom we 
saw throwing his nets from an insulated rock at 
some distance from the shore, and whom a very 
trifling exertion of fancy might have converted 
into some sea divinity, a Glaucus, or a Proteus, 
formed altogether a picture of the most wonderful 
and luxuriant beauty. In England, there is a pe- 
culiar charm in the soft aerial perspective, which, 
even in the broadest glare of noonday, blends and 
masses the forms of the distant landscape ; and in 
that mingling of colors into a cool neutral grey 
tint so grateful to the eye. Hence it has happened 
that in some of the Italian pictures I have seen in 
England, I have often been struck by what ap- 
peared to me a violence in the coloring, and a 
sharp decision in the outline, o'erstepping the 
modesty of nature — that is, of English nature : but 
there is in this climate a prismatic splendor of tint, 
a glorious all-embracing light, a vivid distinctness 
of outline, something in the reality more gorgeous, 
glowing, and luxuriant, than poetry could dare ta 
express, or painting imitate. 

" Ah, that such beauty, varying in the light 
Of living nature, cannot be portrayed 
By words, nor by the pencil's silent skill; 



252 VELLETRI. 

But is the property of those alone 
Who have beheld it, noted it with care. 
And in their minds recorded it with love." * 

And now we have left the enchanting soutk i 
myrtle-hedges, palm-trees, orange-groves, bright 
Mediterranean, all adieu ! How, under other cir- 
cumstances, should I regret you, with what reluc- 
tance should J leave you, thus half explored, half 
enjoyed ! but now other thoughts engross me, the 
hard struggle to overcome myself, or at least to 
appear the thing I am not. 



LINES. 

Quenched is our light of youth ! 

And fled our days of pleasure, 
When all was hope and truth, 

And trusting — without measure. 

Blindly we believed 

Words of fondness sposen — 
Cruel hearts deceived, 

So our peace was broken ! 

What can charm us more ? 

Life hath lost its sweetness 1 
Weary lags the hour — 

" Time hath lost its flectness! 

* Wordsworth. 



VELLETRI. 258 

As the buds in May 

Were the joys we cherished, 
Sweet — but frail as they, 

Thus they passed and perishe* t 

And the few bright hours 

Wintry age can number, 
Sickly, senseless flowers, 

Lingering through December ! 

Man lias done what he can to deform this lovely 
region. The most horrible places we have yet met 
with are Itri and Fondi, which look like recesses 
of depravity and dirt, and the houses more like the 
dens and kennels of wild beasts, than the habita- 
tions of civilized human beings. In fact, the pop- 
ulace of these towns consists chiefly of the families 
of the briganti. The women we saw here were bold 
coarse Amazons ; and the few men who appeared 
.lad a slouching gait, and looked at us from undei 
their eyebrows with an expression at once cunning 
and fierce. We met many begging friars — hor- 
rible specimens of their species : altogether, I never 
beheld such a desperate set of canaille as appear to 
have congregated in these two wretched towns. 

At Mola, I remarked several beautiful women. 
Their headdress is singularly graceful : the hair 
Deing plaited round the back of the head, and there 
fastened with two silver pins, much in the manner 
sf some of the ancient statues. The costume of the 
peasantry there, and all the way to Borne, is very 



254 



striking and picturesque. I remember one woman 
•whom I saw standing at her door spinning with hei 
distaff : her long black hair floating down from its 
confinement, was spread over her shoulders ; not 
hanging in a dishevelled and slovenly style, but in 
the most rich and luxuriant tresses. Her attitude 
as she stood suspending her work to gaze at me, as 
I gazed at her with open admiration, was graceful 
and dignified ; and her form and features would 
have been a model for a Juno or a Minerva.* 

Rome, March lb. 

We arrived here yesterday morning about one, 
after a short but delightful journey from Velletri. 
We have now a suite of apartments in the Hotel 
d'Europe ; and our accommodations are in all re- 
spects excellent, almost equal to Schneiderf's at 
Florence. 

On entering Rome through the gate of the Lat- 
eran, I was struck by the emptiness and stillness 
of the streets, contrasted with those of Naples ; and 
still more by the architectural grandeur and beauty 

* Beyond Fondi, I remarked among the wild myrtle-covered 
hills, a wreath of white smoke rise as if from under ground, and I 
asked the postilion what it meant? He replied with an expres- 
sive gesture, " Signora — i briganti! " I thought this was a mere 
trick to alarm us ; but it was truth : within twenty hours after 
we had passed the spot, a carriage was attacked ; and a desperate 
struggle took place between the banditti and the sentinels, who 
are placed at regular distances along the road, and within hear 
Ing of each other. Several men were killed, but the robbers a 
eDgth were obliged to fly. 



ROME. 255 

which every where met the eye. This is as it 
should be: the merry, noisy, half-naked, merry- 
andrew set of ragamuffins which crowd the streets 
and shores of Naples, would strangely misbecome 
the desolate majesty of the " Eternal City." Though 
we now reside in the most fashionable and fre- 
quented part of Rome, the sound of carts and car- 
riages is seldom heard. After nine in the evening 
a profound stillness reigns ; and I distinguish 
nothing from my window but the splashing of the 
Fountain della Barchetta. 

The weather is lovely ; we were obliged to close 
our Venetian blinds against the heat at eight this 
morning, and afterwards we drove to the gardens 
of the Yilla Borghese, where we wandered about in 
search of coolness and shade. 

***** 

26. — I must now descend to the common occur- 
rences of our every-day life. 

For the last week we have generally spent the 
whole or part of the morning, in some of the gal- 
leries of art ; and the afternoon in the gardens of 
the neighbouring villas. Those of the Villa Medici 
have their vicinity to our inn, and their fine air to 
recommend them. From the Villa Lanti, and the 
Monte Mario, we have a splendid view of the whole 
city and Campagna of Borne. The Pope's gardens 
on the Monte Cavallo, are pleasant, accessible, and 
very private : the gardens of the Villa Pamfili, are 
enchanting ; but our usual haunt is the garden of 



256 ROME. 

the Yilla Borghese. In this delightful spot we find 
shade and privacy, or sunshine and society, as we 
may feel inclined. To-day it was intensely hot ; 
and we found the cool sequestered walks and alleys 
of cypress and ilex, perfectly delicious. I spread 
my shawl upon a green bank carpeted with violets, 
and lounged in most luxurious indolence. I had a 
book with me, but felt no inclination to read. The 
soft air, the trickling and murmuring of innumer- 
able fountains, the urns, the temples, the statues — 
the localities of the scene — all dispose the mind to 
a kind of vague but delightful reverie to which we 
" find no end, in wandering mazes lost." 

In these gardens we frequently meet the Princess 
Pauline ; sometimes alone, but oftener surrounded 
by a cortege of gentlemen. She is no longer the 
"Yenere Vincitrice" of Canova; but her face, 
though faded, is pretty and intelligent ; and she 
still preserves the " andar celeste," and all the dis- 
tinguished elegance of her petite and graceful 
figure. Of the stories told of her, I suppose one 
half may be true — and that half is quite enough. 
She is rather more famous for her gallantries than 
for her bon-gout in the choice of her favorites ; 
but it is justice to Pauline to add, that her native 
benevolence of heart seems to have survived all her 
frailties ; and every one who speaks of her here, 
even those who most condemn her, mention her 
in a tone of kindness, and even of respect. She is 
still in deep mourning for the Emperor. 



257 



The Villa Pamfili is about two miles from Rome 
on the other side of the Monte Gianicolo. The 
gardens are laid out in the artificial style of Italian 
gardening, a style which in England would horrify 
me as in the vilest and most old-fashioned taste — 
stiff, cold, unnatural, and altogether detestable. 
Through what inconsistency or perversity of taste 
is it then, that I am enchanted with the fantastic 
elegance and the picturesque gayety of the Pamfili 
gardens ; where sportive art revels and runs wild 
amid the luxuriance of nature ? Or is it, as I would 
rather believe, because these long arcades of ver- 
dure, these close walls of laurel, pervious to the 
air, but impervious to the sunshine, these broad 
umbrageous avenues and marble terraces, these 
paved grottos and ever-trickling fountains, these 
gods, nymphs, and urns, and sarcophagi, meeting 
us at every turn with some classical or poetical as- 
sociation, harmonize with the climate and the coun- 
try, and the minds of the people ; and are comfort- 
able and consistent as a well-carpeted drawing- 
room and a warm chimney-corner would be in 
England ? 

"But it is all so artificial and unnatural" — 
Agreed ; — so are our yellow unsheltered gravel- 
walks, meandering through smooth-shaven lawns, 
which have no other beauty than that of being dry 
when every other place is w^t; our shapeless 
flower-beds so elaborately irregular, our clumps 
and dots of trees, and dwarfish shrubberies. I have 
17 



258 ROME. 



some over-dressed grounds and gardens in 
England, the perpetrations of Capability Brown 
and his imitators, the landscape gardeners, quite aa 
bad as any thing I see here, only in a different 
style, and certainly more adapted to England and 
English taste. I mast confess, that in these en- 
chanting gardens of the Villa Pamfili, a little less 
" ingenuity and artifice " would be better. I hate 
mere tricks and gimcrackery, of which there are a 
few instances, such as their hydraulic music, jets- 
d'eau — water-works that play occasionally for the 
astonishment of children and the profit of the gar- 
deners — but how different, after all, are these Ital- 
ian gardens to the miserable grandeur, and sense- 
less, tasteless parade of Versailles ! 

In these gardens an interesting discovery has 
just been made ; an extensive burial-place, or co- 
lumbarium, in singular preservation. The skele- 
tons and ashes have not been removed. Some 
of the tombs are painted in fresco, others floored 
with very pretty mosaic. The disposition of the 
urns is curious : they are imbedded in the masonry 
of the wall with movable lids. On a tile, I found 
the name of Sextus Pompeius, in letters beautifully 
formed, and deeply and distinctly cut, and an in- 
ecription which I was not Latinist enough to trans- 
late accurately, but from which it appears thai 
these columbaria belonged to a branch of the Fcm- 
pey family. 

27. — To-day, after English Chapel, I took a wali 



ROME. 259 

to the San Gregorio, on the other side of the Pala- 
tine, which since I first came to Rome has been to 
me a favorite and chosen spot. I sat down on 
the steps of the church to rest, and enjoy at leisure 
the fine view of the hill and ruins opposite. Arches 
on arches, a wilderness of desolation ! and mingled 
with massive fragments of the halls and towers of 
the Caesars, were young shrubs just putting on their 
brightest green, and the almond-trees covered with 
their gay blossoms, and the cloudless and resplend- 
ent skies bending over all. 

I tried to sketch the scene before me, but could 
not form a stroke. I cannot now take a short walk 
without feeling its ill effects ; and my hand shook 
so much from nervous weakness, that after a few 
vain efforts to steady it, I sorrowfully gave up the 
attempt. On returning home by the Coliseum, and 
through the Forum and Capitol, I met many things 
I should wish to remember. After all, what place 
is like Rome, where it is impossible to move a step 
without meeting with some incident or object to ex- 
cite reflection, to enchant the eye, or interest the 
imagination V Rome may yield to Naples or Flor- 
ence in mere external beauty, but every other 
spot on earth, Athens perhaps alone excepted, 
must yield to Rome in interest. 

***** 

18. — This morning we walked down to the studio 
of M. Wagenal, to see the iEgina marbles ; which 
is objects of curiosity interested me extremely 



260 ROME. 

These statues are on a smaller scale than I ex- 
pected, being not much more than half the size of 
life, but of better workmanship, and in a style of 
sculpture altogether different from any thing I ever 
saw before. They formed the ornaments of the 
pediment of the temple of Jupiter in the island of 
zEgina, and represented a group of fighting and 
dying warriors, with an armed Pallas in the centre : 
but the subject is not known. 

The execution of these statues must evidently be 
referred to the earliest ages of Grecian art ; to a 
period when sculpture was confined to the exact 
imitation of natural forms. Several of the figures 
are extremely spirited, and very correct both in 
design and execution ; but there is no attempt at 
grace, and a total deficiency of ideal beauty : in the 
Pallas, especially, the drapery and forms are but 
one remove from the cold formal Etruscan style, 
which in its turn is but one remove from the yet 
more tasteless Egyptian. I think it was at the Villa 
Albani, I saw the singular Etruscan basso-relievo 
which I was able to compare mentally with what I 
saw to-day ; and the resemblance in manner struck 
me immediately. Thorwaldson is now restoring 
these marbles in the most admirable style for the 
King of Bavaria, to whom they were sold by Messrs. 
Cockerell and Linkh (the original discoverers) for 
8000Z. 

Gibson, the celebrated English sculptor, joined 
is while looking at the iEgina marbles, and accon> 



ROME. %1 

panied us to the studio of Pozzi, the Florentine 
Btatuary. Here, I saw several instances of that 
affected and meretricious taste which prevails too 
much among the foreign sculptors. I remembei 
one example almost ludicrous, a female Satyr with 
her hair turned up behind and dressed in the last 
Parisian fashion ; as if she had just come from undei 
the hands of Monsieur Hyppolite. By the same 
hand which committed this odd solecism, I saw a 
statue of Moses, now modelling in clay, which, if 
finished in marble in a style worthy of its concep- 
tion, and if not spoiled by some affected niceties in 
the execution, will be a magnificent and sublime 
work of art. 

Gibson afterwards showed us round his own stu- 
dio : his exquisite group of Psyche borne away by 
the Zephyrs enchanted me. The necessity which 
exists for supporting all the figures, has rendered it 
impossible to give them the same aerial lightness I 
have seen in paintings of the same subject, yet they 
are all but aerial. Psyche was criticized by two or 
three of our party ; but I thought her faultless : she 
is a lovely timid girl ; and as she leans on her airy 
supporters, she seems to contemplate her flight 
down the precipice, half-shrinking, though secure. 
Mr. W* * told me that, in the original design, the 
left foot of one of the Zephyrs rested upon the 
ground : and that Caaova, coming in by chance 
while Gibson was working on the model, lifted it 
«*p, and this simple and masterly alteration has im- 



262 ROME. 

parted the most exquisite lightness to the atti« 
tude. 

Gibson was Canova's favorite pupil: he has 
quite the air of a genius: plain features, but a 
countenance all beaming with fire, spirit, and intel- 
ligence. His Psyche remains still in the model, as 
he has not yet found a patron munificent enough to 
order it in marble ; at which I greatly wonder. 
Could I but afford to bestow seven hundred pounds 
on my own gratification, I would have given him 
the order on the spot* 

30. — Yesterday we dined al fresco in the Pam- 
fili gardens : and though our party was rather too 
large, it was well assorted, and the day went off 
admirably. The queen of our feast was in high 
good humor, and irresistible in charms : Frattino, 
very fascinating, T* * caustic and witty, W* * 
lively and clever, Sir J* * mild, intelligent, and 
elegant, V**, as usual, quiet, sensible, and self- 
complacent, L* * as absurd and assiduous as ever. 
Every body played their part well, each by a tacit 
convention sacrificing to the amour propre of the 
rest. Every individual really occupied with his 
own particular role, but all apparently happy, and 
mutually pleased. Vanity and selfishness, indiffer- 
ence and ennui, were veiled under a general mask 
of good-humor and good-breeding, and the flowery 
Donds of politeness and gallantry held together 

* It is understood that this beautiful group has since bee* 
executed in marble for Sir George Beaumont. — Editor. 



263 



those who knew no common tie of thought or in- 
terest; and when parted, (as they soon will be, 
north, south, east, and west,) will probably never 
meet again in this world ; and whether they do or 
not, who thinks or cares ! 

Our luxurious dinner, washed down by a com- 
petent proportion of Malvoisie and Champagne, 
was spread upon the grass, which was literally the 
flowery turf, being covered with violets, iris, and 
anemones of every dye. Instead of changing our 
plates, we washed them in a beautiful fountain 
which murmured near us, having first, by a liba- 
tion, propitiated the presiding nymph for this pol- 
lution of her limpid waters. For my own peculiar 
taste there were too many servants, (who on these 
occasions are always de trop,) too many luxuries, 
too much fuss ; but considering the style and num- 
ber of our party it was all consistently and ad- 
mirably managed : the grouping of the company, 
picturesque because unpremeditated, the scenery 
round, the arcades, and bowers, and columns, and 
fountains, had an air altogether quite poetical and 
romantic ; and put me in mind of some of Watteau's 
beautiful garden-pieces, and Stothard's fetes cham- 
petres. 

To me the day was not a day of pleasure ; for 
the small stock of strength and spirits with which I 
net out was soon exhausted, and the rest of the day 
was wasted in efforts to appear cheerful anu sup- 
port myself to the end, lest I should spoil the gen- 



864 ROME. 

era! mirth : on all I looked with complacency tinged 
with my habitual melancholy. What I most ad- 
mired was the delicious view, from an eminence in 
the wildest part of the gardens, over the city and 
Campagna to the blue Apennines, where Frascati 
and Albano peeped forth like nests of white build- 
ings glittering upon a rich background, tinted with 
blue and purple ; the hill where Cato's villa stood, 
and still called the Portian Hill, and on the highest 
point the ruined temple of Jupiter Latialis, visible 
at the distance of seventeen miles, and shining in 
the setting sun like burnished gold. What I most 
felt and enjoyed was the luxurious temperature of 
the atmosphere, the purity and brilliance of the 
skies, the delicious security with which I threw my- 
self down on the turf without fear of damp and 
cold ; and the thankful consciousness, that neither 
the light or worldly beings round me, nor the sad- 
ness which weighed down my own heart, had quite 
deadened my once quick sense of pleasure, but left 
me still some perception of the splendor and clas- 
sical interest of the glorious scenes around me, com- 
bined as it was with all the enchantment of oaturaj 
beauty — 

" The music and the bloom 

And all the mighty ravishment of sprinjr." 



ROME. 265 



TOLSE AI MARTIRI OGNI CONFIN, CHI AL CORE 
TOGLIER POTEO LA LIBERTA DEL PIANTO ! 

O ye blue luxurious skies ! 

Sparkling fountains, 

Snow-capp'd mountains, 
Classic shades that round me rise I 

Towers and temples, hills and groves, 

Scenes of glory, 

Fam'd in story, 
Where the eye enchanted roves ' 

thou rich embroider' d earth! 

Opening flowers, 

Leafy bowers, 
Sights of gladness, sounds of mirth! 

Why to my desponding heart, 

Darkly thinking, 

Sadly sinking, 
Can ye no delight impart ? 

Written on an old pedestal in the gardens of the Villa 
Pamfili, yesterday, (March 29th.) 

Sunday, 31. — To-day the Holy week begins, and 
a kind of programma of the usual ceremonies of 
each day was laid on my toilet this morning. 
The bill of fare for this day runs thus : — 

" Domenica delle Palme, nel Capella Papale nel 
Palazzo Apostolico, canta messa un Cardinal Prete. 
U Sommo Pontefice fa la benedizione delle Palme, 
jon processione per la Sala Regia." 



266 ROME. 

I gave up going to the English service accord- 
ingly, and consented to accompany R* * and V* * 
to the Pope's Chapel. We entered just as tne 
ceremony of blessing the palms was going on : a 
cardinal officiated for the poor old pope, who is at 
present ill. 

After the palms had been duly blessed, they were 
earned in procession round the splendid anti- 
chamber, called the Sala Regia; meantime the 
chapel doors were closed upon them, and on their 
return, they (not the palms, but the priests) knocked 
and demanded entrance in a fine recitative ; two 
of the principal voices replied from within ; the 
choir without sung a response, and after a moment's 
silence the doors were opened, and the service 
went on. 

This was very trivial and tedious. Rospo said, 
very truly, that the procession in Blue Beard was 
much better got up. All these processions sound 
very fine in mere description, but in the reality 
there is always something to disappoint or disgust ; 
something which leaves either a ludicrous or a pain- 
ful impression on the mind. The old priests and 
cardinals to-day looking like so many old beggar- 
women dressed up in the cast-off finery of a Christ- 
mas pantomime, the assistants smirking and whisper- 
ing, the singers grinning at each other between 
every solemn strain of melody, and blowing theif 
noses and spitting about like true Italians — in short, 
the want of keeping in the tout ensemble shocked 



267 



my taste and my imagination, and, I may add, 
better, more serious feelings. It is well to see these 
things once, that we may not be cheated with fine 
words, but judge for ourselves. I foresee, how- 
ever, that I shall not be tempted to encounter any 
of the more crowded ceremonies. 

I remarked that all the Italians wore black to- 
day. 

We spent the afternoon at the Vatican. We 
found St. Peter's almost deserted ; few people, no 
music, the pictures all muffled, and the altars hung 
with black drapery. The scaffolding was preparing 
for the ceremonies of the week ; and, on the whole, 
St. Peter's appeared, for the first time, disagreeable 
and gloomy. 

Monday, April 1. — Non riconosco oggi la mia bella 
Italia ! Clouds, and cold, and rain, to which we 
have been so long unaccustomed, seem unnatural ; 
and deform that peculiar character of sunny loveli- 
ness which belongs to this country : and, apropos to 
climate, I may as well observe now, that since the 
1st of February, when we left Rome for Naples, up 
to this present 1st of April, not one day has been 
so rainy as to confine us to the house : and on re- 
ferring to my memoranda of the weather, I find 
that at Naples it rained one day for a few hours 
only, and for about two hours on the morning we 
left it : since then, not a drop of rain has fallen ; 
all hot, cloudless, lovely weather. We have been 
for the last three weeks in summer costume, and 



268 ROME. 

guard against the heat as we should in England 
during the dog-days. To have an idea of an 
Italian summer, Mr. W* * says we must fancy tho 
present heat quadrupled. 

The day, notwithstanding, has been unusually 
pleasant : the afternoon, though not brilliant, was 
clear and soft ; and we drove in the open carriage 
first to the little church of Santa Maria della Pace, 
to see Raffaelle's famous fresco, the Four Sibyls. 
It is in the finest preservation, and combines all his 
peculiar graces of design and expression. The 
coloring has not suffered from time and damp like 
that of the frescos in the Vatican, but it is at once 
brilliant and delicate. Nothing can exceed the 
exquisite grace of the Sibilla Persica, nor the 
beautiful drapery and inspired look of the Cumana. 
Fortunately, I had never seen any copy or en- 
graving of this masterpiece : its beauty was to me 
enhanced by surprise and all the charm of novelty : 
and my gratification was complete. 

We afterwards spent half an hour in the gardens 
of the Villa Lanti, on the Monte Gianicolo. The 
view of Rome from these gardens is superb : though 
the sky was clouded, the atmosphere was perfectly 
pure and clear : the eye took in the whole extent 
of ancient and modern Rome ; beyond it the Cam. 
pagna, the Alban Hills, and the Apennines, which 
appeared of a deep purple, with pale clouds float- 
ing over their summits. The city lay at our feet 
«. ent, and clothed with the daylight as with a gap 



ROME. 269 

inent ; no smoke, no vapor, no sound, no motion, 
no sign of life : it looked like a city whose inhab- 
itants had been suddenly petrified, or smitten by a 
destroying angel; and such was the effect of its 
strange and solemn beauty, that, before I was aware, 
I felt my eyes fill with tears as I looked upon it. 

I saw Naples from the Castle of Sant Elmo — 
Betting aside the sea and Mount Vesuvius, those 
unequalled features in that radiant picture — the 
view of the city of Naples is not so fine as the 
view of Rome : it is, comparatively, deficient in 
sentiment, in interest, and in dignity. Naples wears 
on her brow the voluptuous beauty of a syren — 
Rome sits desolate on her seven-hilled throne, "the 
Niobe of Nations." 

I wish I could have painted what I saw to-day as 
I saw it. Yet no — the reality was perhaps too 
much like a picture to please in a picture : the ex- 
quisite harmony of the coloring, the softness of the 
'ights and shades, the solemn death-like stillness, 
the distinctness of every form and outline, and the 
classic interest attached to every noble object, corn* 
bined to form a scene, which hereafter, in the si- 
lence of my own thoughts, I shall often love to re- 
call and to dwell upon. 

To-night I read with Incoronati, the Fourth book 
of Dante, and two of Petrarch's Canzoni " I' vo 
pensando," and " Verdi panni," making notes from 
uis explanations and remarks as 1 went along. 
These two Canzoni T had selected as being among 



270 



the most puzzling as well as the most beautiful 
Those are strangely mistaken, who, from a super- 
ficial study of a few of his amatory sonnets, regard 
Petrarch as a mere love-sick poet, who spent his 
time in be-rhyming an obdurate mistress ; and those 
are equally mistaken who consider him as the poet- 
ical votarist of an imaginary fair one. I know but 
little, even of the little that is known of his life ; 
for I remember being as much terrified by the 
ponderous quartos of the Abbe de Sade, as I was 
discomfited and disappointed by the flimsy octavo 
of Mrs. Dobson. I am now studying Petrarch in 
his own works ; and it seemeth to me, in my simple 
wit, that such exquisite touches of truth and nature, 
such depth and purity of feeling, such felicity of 
expression, such vivid yet delicate pictures of 
female beauty, could spring only from a real and 
heartfelt passion. We know too little of Laura; 
but it is probable, if she had always preserved a 
stern and unfeeling indifference, she would not 
have so entirely commanded the affections of a 
feeling heart ; and had she yielded, she would not 
so long have preserved her influence. 

Think you if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, 
He would have written sonnets all his life V 

Li truth, she appears to have been the most finished 
coquette of her own or any other age.* 

* See the admirable and eloquent " Essays on Tetrarch, b 
Dgo Foscolo," which have appeared since this Diary was written 
t Editor. 



ROME. 271 

8. — What a delight it would be, if, at the end of 
a day like this, I had somebody with whom I coulvl 
jalk over things — with whose feelings and impres- 
Bions I could compare my own — who would direct 
my judgment, and assist me in arranging my ideas, 
and double every pleasure by sharing it with me ! 
What would have become of me if I had not 
thought of keeping a Diary ? I should have died 
of a sort of mental repletion ! What a consolation 
and employment has it been to me to let my over- 
flowing heart and soul exhale themselves on paper ! 
When I have neither power nor spirits to join in 
common-place conversation, I open my dear little 
Diary, and feel, while my pen thus swiftly glides 
along, much less as if I were writing than as if I 
were speaking — yes ! speaking to one who perhaps 
will read this when I am no more — but not till 
then. 

I was well enough to walk up to the Rospigliosi 
Palace this morning to see Guido's Aurora : it is 
on the ceiling of a pavilion : would it were not ! 
for I looked at it till my neck ached, and my brain 
turned giddy and sick. I can only say that it far 
surpassed my expectations: the coloring is the 
most brilliant yet the most harmonious in the world ; 
and there is a depth, a strength, a richness in the 
tints, not common to Guido's style. The whole is 
is fresh as if painted yesterday; though Guido 
fiust have died sometime about 1640. 

On each side of the hall or pavilion adorned by 



272 



the Aurora, there is a small room, containing a feur 
excellent pictures. The Triumph of David, by 
Domenichino, a fine rich picture ; an exquisite An- 
dromeda, by Guido, painted with his usual delicacy 
aud sentiment; the Twelve Apostles, by Rubens, 
some of them very fine ; " the Five Senses," said 
to be by Carlo Cignani, but if so he has surpassed 
himself: it is like Domenichino. The Death of 
Samson, by L. Carracci, wearies the eye by the 
number and confusion of the figures: it has no 
principal group upon which the attention can rest. 
There is also a fine portrait of Nicolo Poussin, by 
himself, and an interesting head of Guido. 

At three o'clock we went down to the Capella 
Sistina to hear the Miserere. In describing the 
effect produced by this divine music, the time, the 
place, the scenic contrivance should be taken into 
account: the time — solemn twilight, just as the 
shades begin to fall around: the place — a noble 
and lofty hall where the terrors of Michel Angelo's 
Last Judgment are rendered more terrible by the 
gathering gloom, and his sublime Prophets and 
Sibyls frown dimly upon us from the walls above. 
The extinguishing of the tapers, the concealed 
choir, the angelic voices chosen from among the 
finest in the world, and blended by long practice 
into the most perfect unison, were combined tc 
produce that overpowering effect which has so ofter 
Deen described. Many ladies wept, and one fainted 
Unassisted vocal music is certainly the finest of all 



273 



no power of instruments could have thrille'l me 
like the blended stream of melancholy harmony, 
breathed forth with such an expression of despair- 
ing anguish, that it was almost too much to bear. 

Good-Friday. — I saw more new, amusing, and 
delightful things yesterday, than I can attempt to 
describe or even enumerate : but I think there is 
no danger of my forgetting general impressions : 
if my memory should fail me in particulars, my 
imagination can always recall the whole. 

In the morning I declined going to see the cere- 
monies at the Vatican. The procession of the 
host from the Sistine to the Pauline Chapel ; the 
washing of the pilgrims' feet, &c. — all these things 
arc less than indifferent to me ; and the illness and 
absence of the poor old pope rendered them par- 
ticularly uninteresting. Every body went but my- 
self; and it was agreed that we should all meet at 
the door of the Sistine Chapel at five o'clock. I 
remained quietly at home on my sofa till one ; and 
then drove to the Museum of the Vatican, where I 
spent the rest of the day ; it was a grand festa, and 
the whole of the Vatican, including the immense 
Buite of splendid libraries, was thrown open to the 
public. All the foreigners in Rome having crowded 
to St. Peter's, or the chapels, to view the ceremonies 
going on, I was the only stranger amidst an as- 
Bemblage of the common people and peasantry, 
who had come to lounge there till the lighting up 
«f the Cross. I walked on and on, hour after hour 

18 



274 



lost in amazement, and wondering where and when 
this glorious labyrinth was to end ; successive gal- 
leries fitted up with the gay splendor of an 
Oriental Haram, in which the books and manu- 
scripts are all arranged and numbered in cases; 
the beautiful perspective of hall beyond hall vanish- 
ing away into immeasurable distance, the refulgent 
light shed over all ; and add to this, the extra- 
ordinary visages and costumes of the people, who 
with their families wandered along in groups or 
singly, all behaving with the utmost decorum, and 
making emphatic exclamations on the beauties 
around them — " Ah ! che bella cosa ! Cosa rara ! 
bella assai!" all furnished me with such ample 
matter for amusement, and observation, and ad- 
miration, that I was insensible to fatigue, and knew 
not that in five hours I had scarce completed the 
circuit of the Museum. 

One room (the Camera dei Papiri) struck me 
particularly : it is a small octagon, the ceiling and 
ornaments painted by Raffaelle Mengs with ex- 
quisite taste. The group on the ceiling represents 
the Muse of History writing, while her book re- 
poses on the wings of Time, and a Genius supplies 
her with materials: the panels of this room are 
formed of old manuscripts, pasted up against the 
walls and glazed. The effect of the whole is as 
lingular as beautiful. 

A new gallery of marbles has lately been opened 
by the Pope, called from its form the Sala dellt 



ROME. 276 

Croce: in splendid, classical, and tasteful decora- 
tion, it equals any of the others, but is not, per- 
haps, so remarkable for the intrinsic value of its 
contents. 

I never more deeply felt my own ignorance and 
deficiencies than I did to-day. I saw so many 
things I did not understand, so much which I wished 
to have explained to me, I longed so inexpiessibly 
for some one to talk to, to exclaim to, to help me to 
wonder, to admire, to be extasiee ! but I was alone : 
and I know not how it is, or why, but when ± am 
alone, not only my powers of enjoyment seem to 
fail me in a degree, but even my mental faculties ; 
and the multitude of my own ideas and sensations 
confuse, oppress, and irritate me. 

I walked through the whole giro of the Museum, 
examining the busts and pictures particularly, with 
the help of Este's admirable catalogue raisonnee, 
and at half-past five I reached the Sistine Chapel, 
just in time to hear the second Miserere : neither 
the music nor the effort were equal to the first 
evening. The music, though inferior to Allegri's, 
was truly beautiful and sublime; but the scenic 
pageantry did not strike so much on repetition : the 
chapel was insufferably crowded, I was sick and 
stupid from heat and fatigue; and, to crown all, 
just in the midst of one of the most overpowering 
•trains, the cry of condemned souls pleading for 
ciercy, which made my heart pause, and my flesh 
treep — a lady behind me whispered loudly, " Do 



276 ROME. 

look what lovely broderie Mrs. L** has on her 
white satin spencer ! " 

After the Miserere, we adjourned to St. Peter's, 
to see the illumination of the Girandola. I confess 
the first glance disappointed me; for the cross, 
though more than thirty feet in height, looks trivial 
and diminutive, compared with the immensity of 
the dome in which it is suspended : but just as I 
was beginning to admire the sublime effect of the 
whole scene, I was obliged to leave the church, 
being unable to stand the fatigue any longer. 

To-day we have remained quietly at home, re- 
cruiting after the exertions of yesterday. After 
dinner Colonel and Mr. "VV * * began to dis- 
cuss the politics of Italy, and from abusing the gov- 
ernments, they fell upon the people, and being of 
very opposite principles and parties, they soon 

began an argument which ended in a warm dis- 
cs o 

pute, and sent me to take refuge in my own room. 
How I detest politics and discord! How I hate 
the discussion of politics in Italy ! and, above all, 
the discussion of Italian politics, which offer no 
point upon which the mind can dwell with pleas- 
ure. I have not wandered to Italy — " this land of 
Bunlit skies and fountains clear," as Barry Corn- 
wall calls it, — only to scrape together materials for 
a quarto tour, or to sweep up the leavings of the 
K fearless " Lady Morgan ; or to dwell upon the 
heart-sickening realities which meet me at every 



ROME. 277 

Jurn •, evils of which I neither understand the 
cause, nor the cure. And yet say not to Italy 

" Caduta e la tua gloria — e tu nol' vedi ! " 

— she does see it, — she does feel it. A spirit is 
silently and gradually working its way beneath the 
surface of society, which must, ere long, break 
forth either for good or for evil. Between a profli- 
gate and servile nobility, and a degraded and 
enslaved populace, a middle class has lately sprung 
up ; the men of letters, the artists, the professors in 
the sciences, who have obtained property, or dis- 
tinction at least, in the commotions which have 
agitated their country, and those who have served 
at home or abroad in the revolutionary wars. 
These all seem impelled by one and the same 
spirit ; and make up for their want of numbers by 
their activity, talents, enthusiasm, and the secret 
but increasing influence which they exert over the 
other classes of society. But on subjects like these, 
however interesting, I have no means of obtaining 
information at once general and accurate : and I 
would rather not think, nor speak, nor write, upon 
"matters which are too high for me." Let the 
modern Italians be what they may, — what I hear 
them styled six times a day at least, — a dirty, de- 
moralized, degraded, unprincipled race, — centuries 
behind our thrice-blessed, prosperous, and comfort- 
loving nation in civilization and morals : if I were 
come among them as a resident, this picture niighi 



278 



alarm me : situated as I am, a nameless sort of per 
son, a mere bird of passage, it concerns me not. 1 
am not come to spy out the nakedness of the land, 
but to implore from her healing airs and lucid skies 
the health and peace I have lost, and to worship as 
a pilgrim at the tomb of her departed glories. I 
have not many opportunities of studying the na- 
tional character 5 I have no dealings with the lower 
classes, little intercourse with the higher. No 
tradesmen cheat me, no hired menials irritate me, 
no inn-keepers fleece me, no postmasters abuse me. 
I love these rich delicious skies ; I love this genial 
sunshine, which, even in December, sends the 
spirits dancing through the veins ; this pure elastic 
atmosphere, which not only brings the distant 
landscape, but almost Heaven itself, nearer to the 
eye ; and all the treasures of art and nature which 
are poured forth around me ; and over which my 
own mind, teeming with images, recollections, and 
associations, can fling a beauty even beyond their 
own. I willingly turn from all that excites the 
spleen and disgust of others : from all that ma) so 
easily be despised, derided, reviled, and abandon 
my heart to that state of calm benevolence towards 
all around me, which leaves me undisturbed to 
enjoy, admire, observe, reflect, remember, with 
pleasure, if not with profit, and enables me to look 
upon the glorious scenes with which I am sur- 
rounded, not with the impertinent inquisition of 
% book-maker, nor the gloomy calculations of 



ROME. 2 79 

politician, nor the sneering selfism of a Smelfungua 
— but with the eye of the painter, and the feeling 
of the poet, 

Apropos to poets ! — Lady C * * has just sent 
us tickets for Sestini's Accademia to-morrow night. 
So far from the race of Improvvisatori being ex- 
tinct, or living only in the pages of Corinne, or in 
the memory of the Fantastici, and the Bandinelli, 
the Gianis and the Corillas of other days, — there is 
scarcely a small town in Italy, as I am informed, 
without its Improvvisatore ; and I know several 
individuals in the higher classes of society, both 
here, and at Florence, more particularly, who are 
remarkable for possessing this extraordinary talent 
— though, of course, it is only exercised for the 
gratification of a private circle. Of those who 
make a public exhibition of their powers, Sgricci 
and Sestini are the most celebrated — and of these 
Sgricci ranks first. I never heard him ; but Signior 
Incoronati, who knows him well, described to me 
his talents and powers as almost supernatural. A 
wonderful display of his art was the improvvisa- 
ziane — we have no English word for a talent which 
in England is unknown, — of a regular tragedy on 
the Greek model, with the chorusses and dialogue 
complete. The subject proposed was from the 
story of Ulysses, which afforded nim an opportunity 
of bringing in the whole sonorous nomenclature of 
the Heathen Mythology, — which, says Forsyth, 
enters into the web of every improvvisatore, and 



280 ROME. 

assists the poet both with rhymes and ideas. Most 
of the celebrated improwisatori have been Floren- 
tines : Sgricci is, I believe, a Neapolitan, and hia 
rival Sestini a Roman. 

***** 

April 7. — Any public exhibition of talent in the 
Fine Arts is here called an Accademia. Sestini 
gave his Accademia in an antechamber of the Pa- 
lazzo , I forget its name, but it was much like 

all the other palaces we are accustomed to see 
here; exhibiting the same strange contrast of 
ancient taste and magnificence, with present mean- 
ness and poverty. We were ushered into a lofty 
room of noble size and beautiful proportions, with 
its rich fresco-painted walls and ceiling faded and 
falling to decay ; a common brick floor, and sundry 
window-panes broken, and stuffed with paper 
The room was nearly filled by the audience, 
amongst whom I remarked a great number of 
English. A table with writing implements, and 
an old shattered jingling piano, occupied one side 
of the apartment, and a small space was left in 
front for the poet. Whilst we waited with some 
impatience for his appearance, several persona 
present walked up to the table and wrote down 
various subjects ; which on Sestini's coming for- 
ward, he read aloud, marking those which were 
iistinguished by the most general applause. Thil 
selection formed our evening's entertainment. A 
\ady sat down in her bonnet and shawl to aceon> 



ROME. 25l 

pany him ; and when fatigued, another fair musi- 
cian readily supplied her place. It is seldom that 
an improvvisatore attempts to recite without the 
assistance of music. When Dr. Moore heard 
Corilla at Florence, she sang to the accompaniment 
of two violins.* La Fantastici preferred the 
guitar ; and I should have preferred either to our 
jingling harpsichord. However, a few chords 
struck at intervals were sufficient to support the 
voice, and mark the time. Several airs were tried, 
and considered before the poet could fix on one 
suited to his subject, and the measure he intended 
to employ. In general they were pretty and 
simple, consisting of very few notes, and more like 
a chant or recitative, than a regular air : one of 
the most beautiful I have obtained, and shall bring 
with me to England. 

The moment Sestini had made his choice, he 
stepped forward, and without further pause or prep- 
aration, began with the first subject upon his list, — 
" 11 primo Navigatore." 

Gesner's beautiful Idyl of " The First Naviga- 
tor," supplied Sestini with the story, in all its de- 
tails ; but he versified it with surprising facility : 
and, as far as I could judge, with great spirit and 



* Corilla (whose real name was Maddalena Morelli) often accom- 
panied herself on the violin ; not holding it against her shoulder, 
Ou'; resting it in her lap. She was reckoned a fine performer on 
this instrument; and. for her distinguished talents was crowned i« 
the Capitol in 1779, 



282 ROME. 

tlegance. He added, too, some trifling circum 
stances, and several little traits, the naivete* of 
which afforded considerable amusement. Wher 
an accurate rhyme, or apt expression, did not offer 
itself on the instant it was required, he knit his 
brows and clenched his fingers with impatience ; 
but I think he never hesitated more than half a 
second. At the moment the chord was struck the 
rhyme was ready. In this manner he poured forth 
between thirty and forty stanzas, with still in- 
creasing animation ; and wound up his poem with 
some beautiful images of love, happiness, and inno- 
cence. Of his success I could form some idea by 
the applauses he received from better judges than 
myself. 

After a few minutes' repose and a glass of 
water, he next called on the company to supply 
him with rhymes for a sonnet. These, as fast as 
they were suggested by various persons, he wrote 
down on a slip of paper. The last rhyme given 
was " Oste/lo" — (a common ale-house,) — at which 
he demurred, and submitting to the company the 
difficulty of introducing so vulgar a word into an 
heroic sonnet, respectfully begged that another 
might be substituted. A lady called out " Avello" 
the poetical term for a grave, or a sepulchre, which 
expression bore a happy analogy to the subject 
proposed. The poet smiled, well pleased; — anu 
itepping forward with the paper in his hand, he 
rmmediately, without even a moment's preparation, 



ROME. 28S 

recited a sonnet on the second subject upon his 
list, — " La Morte di Alfieri" — I could better judge 
of the merit of this effusion, because he spoke it 
unaccompanied by music ; and his enunciation 
was remarkably distinct. The subject was pop- 
ular, and treated with much feeling and poetic 
fervor. After lamenting Alfieri as the patriot, as 
well as the bard, and as the glory of his country, 
he concluded, by indignantly repelling the suppo- 
sition that " +he latest sparks of genius and free- 
dom were buried in the tomb of Vittorio Alfieri." 
A thunder of applause followed ; and cries of 
" O bravo Sestini ! bravo Sestini ! " were echoed 
from the Italian portion of the audience, long after 
the first acclamations had subsided. The men 
rose simultaneously from their seats ; and I confess 
I could hardly keep mine. The animation of the 
poet, and the enthusiasm of the audience sent a 
thrill through every nerve and filled my eyes with 
tears. 

The next subject was " La Morte di Beatrice 
Cenci ; " — and this, I think, was a failure. The 
frightful story of the Cenci is well known in Eng- 
land since the publication of Shelley's Tragedy. 
Here it is familiar to all classes ; and though two 
centuries have since elapsed, it seems as fresh in 
the memory, or rather in the imagination of these 
people, as if it had happened but yesterday. The 
subject was not well chosen for a public and mixed 
p-ss-embly ; and Sestini, without adverting to the 



284 



previous details of horror, confined himself most 
scrupulously, with propriety, to the subject pro- 
posed. He described Beatrice led to execution, — 
" con baldanza casta e generosa" — and the effect 
produced on the multitude by her youth ; — not for- 
getting to celebrate " those tresses like threads of 
gold whose* wavy splendor dazzled all beholders," 
as they are described by a contemporary writer. 
He put into her mouth a long and pious dying 
speech, in which she expressed her trust in the 
blessed Virgin, and her hopes of pardon from eter- 
nal justice and mercy. To my surprise, he also 
made her in one stanza confess and repent the 
murder, or rather sacrifice,* which she had perpe- 
trated ; which is contrary to the known fact, that 
Beatrice never confessed to the last moment of 
existence ; nor gave any reason to suppose that she 
repented. The whole was drawn out to too great 
a length, and, with the exception of a few happy 
touches, and pathetic sentiments, went off flatly. It 
was very little applauded. 

The next subject was the " Immortality of the 
Soul" on which the poet displayed amazing pomp 
and power of words, and a wonderful affluence of 
ideas. He showed, too, an intimate acquaintance 
with all that had ever been said, or sung, upon the 
same subject from Plato to Thomas Aquinas. . 
confess I derived little benefit from all this display 

* Othello. — Thou mak'st me call what I intend to do 
A murder,— which I thought a sacrifice. — 



ROME. 285 

pf poetry and erudition ; for, alter the first few 
Btanzas, finding myself irretrievably perplexed by 
the united difficulties of the language and the sub- 
ject, I withdrew my attention, and amused myseir 
with the paintings on the walls, and with reveries 
on the past and present, till I was roused by the 
acclamations that followed the conclusion of the 
poem, which excited very general admiration and 
applause. 

The company then furnished the bouts-rimes for 
another sonnet : the subject was " L'Amor delta 
Patria" The title, even before he began, was 
hailed by a round of plaudits ; and the sonnet itself 
was excellent and spirited. Excellent I mean in 
its general effect, as an improvvisazione : — how it 
would stand the test of cool criticism I cannot tell ; 
nor is that any thing to the purpose : these extem- 
poraneous effusions ought to be judged merely as 
what they are, — not as finished or correct poems, 
but as wonderful exercises of tenacious memory, 
ready wit, and that quickness of imagination which 

can soar 

" al bel cimento 

Sulle ali dell' momento." 

To return to Sestini. It may be imagined, that 
on such a subject as " I] Amor della Patria" the 
ancient Roman worthies were not forgotten, and 
accordingly, a Brutus, a Scipio, a Fabius, or a 
Fabricms, figured in every line. And surely on 
no occasion could they have been more appropri 



286 HOME. 

ately introduced : — in Rome, and when addressing 
Romans, who showed, by their enthusiastic ap- 
plause, that though the spirit of their forefathers 
may be extinct, their memory is not. 

The next subject, which formed a sort of pendant 
to the Cenci, was the " Parricide of Tullia." In 
this again his success was complete. The stanza in 
which Tullia ordered her charioteer to " drive on," 
was given with such effect as to electrify us : and a 
sudden burst of approbation which caused a mo- 
mentary interruption, evidently lent the poet fresh 
spirits and animation. 

The evening concluded with a lively burlesque, 
entitled " 11 Mercato d'Amore" which represented 
Love as setting up a shop to sell " la Mercanzie 
della Gioventu" The list of his stock in trade, 
though it could not boast of much originality, was 
given with admirable wit and vivacity. In conclu- 
sion, Love being threatened with a bankruptcy, 
took shelter, as the poet assured us, in the bright 
eyes of the ladies present. This farewell compli- 
ment was prettily turned, and intended, of course, 
to be general : but it happened, luckily for Sestini, 
that just opposite to him, and fixed upon him at 
the moment, were two of the brightest eyes in the 
world. Whether he owed any of his inspiration 
to their beams I know not : but the apropos of the 
compliment was seized immediately, and loudly 
applauded by the gentlemen round us. 

Sestini is a young man, apparently about five 



ROME. 287 

and twenty : of a slight and delicate figure, and in 
his whole appearance, odd, wild, and picturesque. 
He has the common foreign trick of running his 
fingers through his black bushy hair ; and accord- 
ingly it stands on end in all directions. A pair 
of immense whiskers, equally black and luxuriant, 
meet at the point of his chin, encircling a visage of 
most cadaverous hue, and features which might be 
termed positively ugly, were it not for the " vago 
spirito ardento" which shines out from his dark 
eyes, and the fire and intelligence which light up 
his whole countenance, till it almost kindles into 
beauty. Though he afterwards conversed with 
apparent ease, and replied to the compliments of 
the company, he was evidently much exhausted by 
his exertions. I should fear that their frequent 
repetition, and the effervescence of mind, and 
nervous excitement they cannot but occasion, must 
gradually wear out his delicate frame and feeble 
temperament, and that the career of this extraor- 
dinary genius will be short as it is brilliant.* 

April 8. — As Maupertuis said after his journey 
to Lapland — for the universe I would not have 
missed the sights and scenes of yesterday ; but, for 
the whole universe, I would not undergo such 
another day of fatigue, anxiety, and feverish ex- 
citement. 

In the morning aoout ten o'clock, we all went 
down to St. Peter's to hear high mass. The ab- 

* Sestini died of a brain fever at Paris in November, 1822.— Ed 



288 ROME. 

Bence of the Pope (who is still extremely ill) 
detracted from the interest and dignity of the cere- 
mony : there was no general benediction from the 
balcony of St. Peter's; and nothing pleased me, 
except the general coup d'ozil ; which in truth was 
splendid. The theatrical dresses of the mitred 
priests, the countless multitude congregated from 
every part of Christendom, in every variety of 
national costume, the immensity and magnificence 
of the church, and the glorious sunshine — all these 
enchanted the eye ; but I could have fancied my- 
self in a theatre. I saw no devotion, and I felt 
none. The whole appeared more like a triumphal 
pageant acted in honor of a heathen deity, than an 
act of worship and thanksgiving to the Great 
Father of all. 

I observed an immense number of pilgrims, 
male and female, who had come from various parts 
of Italy to visit the shrine of St. Peter on this 
grand occasion. I longed to talk to a man who 
stood near me, with a very singular and expressive 
countenance, whose cape and looped hat were 
entirely covered with 'scallop shells and reliques, 
and his long staff surmounted by a death's head. 

I was restrained by a feeling which I now think 
rather ridiculous : I feared, lest by conversing with 
him, I should diminish the effect his romantic and 
picturesque figure had made on my imagination. 

The exposition of the relics, was from a balcon* 
balf way up the dome, so high and distant that ' 



289 



could distinguish nothing but the impression of our 
Saviour's face on the handkerchief of St. Veronica, 
richly framed — at the sight whereof the whole 
multitude prostrated themselves to the earth : the 
other relics I forget, but they were all equally 
marvellous and equally credible. 

We returned after a long fatiguing morning to 
an early dinner; and then drove again to the 
Piazza of St. Peter's, to see the far-famed illumina- 
tion of the church. We had to wait a considerable 
time ; but the scene was so novel and beautiful, 
that I found ample amusement in my own thoughts 
and observations. The twilight rapidly closed 
round us : the long lines of statues along the roof 
and balustrades, faintly defined against the evening 
sky, looked like spirits come down to gaze ; a pro- 
digious crowd of carriages, and people on foot, 
filled every avenue : but all was still, except when 
a half-suppressed murmur of impatience broke 
through the hushed silence of suspense and ex- 
pectation. At length, on a signal, which was 
given by the firing of a cannon, the whole of the 
immense facade and dome, even up to the cross on 
the summit, and the semicircular colonnades in 
front, burst into a blaze, as if at the touch of an 
enchanter's wand ; adding the pleasure of surprise 
to that of delight and admiration. The carriages 
now began to drive rapidly round the piazza, each 
with a train of running footmen, flinging their 
torches round and dashing them against the ground. 
19 



290 ROME. 

The shouts and acclamations of the crowd, the 
stupendous building with all its architectural out- 
lines and projections, denned in lines of living 
flame, the universal light, the sparkling of the 
magnificent fountains — produced an effect far 
beyond any thing I could have anticipated, and 
more like the gorgeous fictions of the Arabian 
Nights, than any earthly reality. 

After driving round the piazza, we adjourned to 
a balcony which had been hired for us overlooking 
the Tiber, and exactly opposite to the Castle of St. 
Angelo. Hence we commanded a view of the fire- 
works, which were truly superb, but made me so 
nervous and giddy with noise and light and wonder, 
that I was rejoiced when all was over. A flight of 
a thousand sky-rockets sent up at once, blotting 
the stars and the moonlight — dazzling our eyes, 
stunning our ears, and amazing all our senses 
together, concluded the Holy Week at Rome. 

To-morrow morning we start for Florence, and 
to-night I close this second volume of my Diary. 
Thanks to my little ingenious Frenchman in the 
Via Santa Croce, I have procured a lock for a 
third volume, almost equal to my patent Bramdh 
in point of security, though very unlike it in every 
nther respect. 

***** 



V7TERBO. 291 



RETURN TO FLORENCE. 

Viterbo, April 9. 

"In every bosom Italy is the second country in the 
world, the surest proof that it is in reality the^rs^.* 

This elegant and just observation occurs, I 
think, in Arthur Young's Travels ; I am not sure 
that I quote the words correctly, but the sense will 
come home to every cultivated mind with the force 
of a proverbial truism. 

One leaves Naples as a man parts with an en- 
chanting mistress, and Rome as we would bid 
adieu to an old and dear-loved friend. I love it, 
and grieve to leave it for its own sake : it is painful 
to quit a place where we leave behind us many 
whom we love and regret ; and almost or quite as 
painful, I think, to quit a place in which we leave 
Dehind us no one to regret, or think of us more ; — 
a feeling like this mingled with the sorrow with 
which 1 bade adieu to Rome this morning. 
Our journey has been fatiguing, triste and tedious. 
***** 

Radicofani, 10th. 

t could almost regret at this moment that I an 
past the age of romance, for I am in a fine situation 
for mysterious and imaginary horrors, could I but 
feel again as I did «*t gay sixteen- but, alas ! ce* 



292 RADICOFANI. 

beaux jours sont passes ! and here 1 am on the 
top of a dreary black mountain, in a rambling old 
inn which looks like a ci-devant hospital or dis- 
mantled barracks, in a bedroom which resembles 
one of the wards of a poorhouse, one little corner 
lighted by my lamp, and the other three parts all 
lost in black ominous darkness; while a tempest 
rages without as if it would break in the rattling 
casements, and burst the roof over our heads ; and 
yet, insensible that I am ! I can calmly take up my 
pen to amuse myself by scribbling, since sleep is 
impossible. I can look round my vast and solitary 
room without fancying a ghost or an assassin in 
every corner, and listen to the raving and lament- 
ing of the storm, without imagining I hear in every 
gust the shrieks of wailing spirits, or the groans of 
murdered travellers; only wishing that the wind 
were rather less cold, or my fire a little brighter, 
or my dormitory less infinitely spacious ; for at 
present its boundaries are invisible. 

The first part of our journey this morning was 
delightful and picturesque : we passed the beauti- 
ful lake of Bolsena, and Montepulciano, so famous 
for its wine, (il Re di Vino, as Redi calls it in the 
3acco in Toscana.} Later in the day we entered 
a gloomy and desolate country ; and after crossing 
the rapid and muddy torrent of Rigo, which, as 
our Guide des Voyageurs wittily informs us, we 
shall have to cross four times if we are not drowned 
the third time, we began to ascend the mountainoui 



FLORENCE. 293 

region which divides the Tuscan from the Roman 
Btates— -a succession of wild barren hills, intersected 
in every direction by deep ravines, and presenting 
a scene, sublime indeed from its waste and wild 
grandeur, but destitute of all beauty, interest, 
magnificence, and variety. 

I remember the strange emotion which came 
across me, when — on the horses stopping to breathe 
on the summit of a lofty ridge, where all around, 
as far as the eye could reach, nothing was to be 
Been but the same unvarying, miserable, heart- 
sinking barrenness, without a trace of human 
habitation, except the black fort or the highest 
point of Radicofani — a soft sound of bells came 
over my ear as if brought upon the wind. There 
is something in the sound of bells in the midst of a 
solitude which is singularly striking, and may be 
cheering or melancholy, according to the mood in 

which we may happen to be. 

***** 

Florence, April 14. 

I have not written a word since we arrived at 
Sienna. What would it avail to me to keep a 
mere journal of suffering ? O that I could change 
as others do, could forget that such things have 
been which can never be again ! that there were 
not this tenacity in my heart and soul which clinga 
o the shadow though the substance be gone ! 

This is not a mere effusion of low spirits, I wai 
never more cheerful ; I have just left a gay party 



894 FLORENCE. 

where Mr. Rogers (whom by special good fortuna 
we meet at every resting-place, and who dinec 
with us to-day) has been entertaining us delight- 
fully. I disdain low spirits as a mere disease 
which comes over us, generally from some physical 
or external cause ; to prescribe for them is as easy 
as to disguise them is difficult: but the hopeless, 
cureless sadness of a heart which droops with 
regret, and throbs with resentment, is easily, very 
easily disguised, but not so easily banished. I hear 
every body round me congratulating themselves, 
and me more particularly, that we have at last 
reached Florence, that we are so far advanced on 
our road homewards, that soon we shall be at 
Paris, and Paris is to do wonders — Paris and 
Dr. R, * * are to set me up again, as the phrase is. 
But I shall never be set up again, I shall never 
live to reach Paris : none can tell how I sicken at 
the very name of that detested place ; none seem 
aware how fast, how very fast the principle of life 
is burning away within me : but why should I 
speak ? and what earthly help can now avail me ? 
I can suffer in silence, I can conceal the weakness 
which increases upon me, by retiring, as if from 
choice and not necessity, from all exertion not 
absolutely inevitable ; and the change is so gradual, 
Uone will perceive it till the great change of all 
comes, and then I shall be at rest. 

Florence looked most beautiful as we approached 



FLORENCE. 295 

it from the south, girt with her theatre of verdant 
hills, and glittering in the sunshine. All the 
country from Sienna to Florence is richly culti- 
vated diversified with neat hamlets, farms, and 
villas. I was more struck with the appearance of 
the Tuscan peasantry on my return from the 
Papal dominions than when we passed through the 
country before : nowhere in Tuscany have we 
seen that look of abject negligent poverty, those 
crowds of squalid beggars which shocked us in the 
Ecclesiastical States. In the towns where we 
stopped to change horses, we were presently sur- 
rounded by a crowd of people : the women came 
out spinning, or sewing and plaiting the Leghorn 
hats ; the children threw flowers into our barouche, 
the men grinned and gaped, but there was no 
vociferous begging, no disgusting display of phys- 
ical evils, filth, and wretchedness. The motive 
was merely that idle curiosity for which the Floren- 
tines in all ages have been remarked. I remember 
an amusing instance which occurred when I was 
here in December last. I was standing one evening 
in the Piazza del Gran Duca, looking at the group 
of the Rape of the Sabines : in a few minutes a 
dozen people gathered round me, gaping at the 
statue, and staring at that and at me alternately, 
either to enjoy my admiration, or find out the 
cause of it : the people came out of the neighbour- 
ing shops, and the crowd continued to increase, 
till at length, though infinitely amused, I was glaJ 
k> make my escape. 



296 FLORENCE. 

I suffered from cold when first we arrived at 
Florence, owing to the change of climate, or rathei 
to mere weakness and fatigue : to-day I begin to 
doubt the possibility of outliving an Italian summer. 
This blazing atmosphere which depresses the eye- 
lids, the enervating heat, and the rich perfume of 
the flowers all around us, are almost too much. 

April 20. — During our stay at Florence, it has 
been one of my favorite occupations to go to the 
Gallery or the Pitti Palace, and placing my 
portable seat opposite to some favorite pictures, 
minutely study and compare the styles of the dif- 
ferent masters. By the style of any particular 
painter, I presume we mean to express the combi- 
nation of two separate essentials — first, his peculiar 
conception of his subject; secondly, his peculiar 
method of executing that conception, with regard 
to coloring, drawing, and what artists call hand- 
ling. The former department of style lies in the 
mind, and will vary according to the feelings, the 
temper, the personal habits, and previous education 
of the painter: the latter is merely mechanical, 
and is technically termed the manner of a painter ; 
it may be cold or warm, hard, dry, free, strong, 
tender : as we say the cold manner of Sasso Fe> 
rato, the warm manner of Giorgione, the hard 
manner of Holbein, the dry manner of Perugino, 
the free manner of Rubens, the strong manner of 
Carravaggio, and so forth; I heard an amateur 
Mice observe, that one of Morland's Pigsties wai 



FLORENCE. 297 

painted with great feeling : all this refers merely 
to mechanical execution. 

I am no connoisseur ; and I should have lamented 
as a misfortune, the want of some fixed principles 
of taste and criticism to guide my judgment; some 
nomenclature by which to express certain effects, 
peculiarities, and excellences which I felt, rather 
than understood ; if my own ignorance had not 
afforded considerable amusement to myself, and 
perhaps to others. I have derived some gratifica- 
tion from observing the gradual improvement of 
my own taste : and from comparing the decis- 
ions of my own unassisted judgment and natural 
feelings, with the fiat of profound critics and 
connoisseurs : the result has been sometimes 
mortifying, sometimes pleasing. Had I visited 
Italy in the character of a ready-made con- 
noisseur, I should have lost many pleasures ; 
for as the eye becomes more practised, the taste 
becomes more discriminative and fastidious ; and 
the more extensive our acquaintance with the 
works of art, the more limited is our sphere of 
admiration ; as if the circle of enjoyment con- 
tracted round us, in proportion as our sense of 
beauty became more intense and exquisite. A 
thousand things which once had power to charm, 
;an charm no longer; but, en revanche, those which 
do please, please a thousand times more : thus what 
we lose on one side, we gain on the other. Per- 
taps, on the whole, a technical knowledge of th« 



898 FLORENCE. 

arts is apt to divert the mind from the generaJ 
effect, to fix it on petty details of execution. Here 
comes a connoisseur, who has found his way, good 
man ! from Somerset House to the Tribune at 
Florence : see him with one hand passed across 
his brow, to shade the light, while the other 
extended forwards, describes certain indescribable 
circumvolutions in the air, and now he retires, now 
advances, now recedes again, till he has hit the 
exact distance from which every point of beauty 
is displayed to the best possible advantage, and 
there he stands — gazing, as never gazed the moon 
upon the waters, or love-sick maiden upon the 
moon ! We take him perhaps for another Pygma- 
lion ? We imagine that it is those parted and half- 
breathing lips, those eyes that seem to float in light ; 
the pictured majesty of suffering virtue, or the tears 
of repenting loveliness ; the divinity of beauty, or 
" the beauty of holiness" which have thus transfixed 
him ? No such thing : it is the fleshiness of the 
tints, the vaghezza of the coloring, the brilliance of 
the carnations, the fold of a robe, or the fore- 
shortening of a little finger. O ! whip me such 
connoisseurs ! the critic's stop-watch was nothing 
to this. 

Mere mechanical excellence, and all the tricks 
ci art have their praise as long as they are sub- 
ordinate and conduce to the general effect. Is 
painting, as in her sister arts, it is necessary 
Che Parte che tutto fa nulla si scuopre. 



FLORENCE. 299 

Of course, I do not speak here of the Dutch 
echool, whose highest aim, and highest praise, is 
exquisite mechanical precision in the representa- 
tion of common nature and still life ; but of those 
pictures which are the productions of mind, which 
address themselves to the understanding, the fancy, 
the feelings, and convey either a moral or a poet- 
ical pleasure. 

In taking a retrospective view of all the best 
collections in Italy and of the Italian school in 
particular, I have been struck by the endless 
multiplication of the same subjects — crucifixions, 
martyrdoms, and other scripture horrors ; — virgins, 
saints, and holy families. The prevalence of the 
former class of subjects is easily explained, and 
has been ingeniously defended; but it is not so 
easily reconciled to the imagination. The mind 
and the eye are shocked and fatigued by the 
succession of revolting and sanguinary images 
which pollute the walls of every palace, church, 
gallery, and academy, from Milan to Naples. The 
splendor of the execution only adds to their 
hideousness ; we at once seek for nature, and 
tremble to find it. It is hateful to see the loveliest 
of the arts degraded to such butcher-work. I have 
often gone to visit a famed collection with a secret 
dread of being led through a sort of intellectual 
shambles, and returned with the feeling of one 
who had supped full of horrors. I do not know 
tow men think, and feel, though I believe many a 



300 FLORENCE. 

man, who with every other feeling absorbed in 
overpowering interest, could look unshrinking upon 
a real scene of cruelty and blood, would shrink 
away disgusted and sickened from the cold, obtru- 
sive, painted representation of the same object ; 
for the truth of this I appeal to men. I can only 
see with woman's eyes, and think and feel as J 
believe every woman must, whatever may be her 
love for the arts. I remember that in one of the 
palaces at Milan — (I think it was in the collection 
of the Duca Litti) — we were led up to a picture 
defended from the air by a plate of glass, and 
which being considered as the gem of the collec- 
tion, was reserved for the last as a kind of bonne 
bouche. I gave but one glance, and turned away 
loathing, shuddering, sickening. The cicerone 
looked amazed at my bad taste ; he assured me it 
was un vero Corregio, (which by the way I can 
never believe,) %nd that the duke had refused for 
it I know not how many thousand scudi. It would 
be difficult to say what was most execrable in this 
picture, the appalling nature of the subject, the 
depravity of mind evinced in its conception, or 
the horrible truth and skill with which it was 
delineated. I ought to add that it was hung in 
the family dining-room and in full view of the 
dinner-table. 

There is a picture among the chefs-d'oeuvres in 
the Vatican, which, if I were Pope (or Pope Joan"* 
for a single day, should be burnt by the common 



FLORENCE. 80* 

hangman, " with the smoke of its ashes to poison 
the air," as it now poisons the sight by its unutter- 
able horrors. There is another in the Palazzo 
Pitti, at which I shiver still, and unfortunately 
there is no avoiding it, aa they have hung it close 
to Guido's lovely Cleopatra. In the gallery there 
is a Judith and Holofernes which irresistibly strikes 
the attention — if any thing would add to the horror 
inspired by the sanguinary subject, and the atro- 
cious fidelity and talent with which it is expressed, 
it is that the artist was a woman.* I must confess 
that Judith is not one of my favorite heroines ; but 
I can more easily conceive how a woman inspired 
by vengeance and patriotism could execute such a 
deed, than that she could coolly sit down, and day 
after day, hour after hour, touch after touch, dwell 
upon and almost realize to the eye such an abomi- 
nation as this. 

We can study anatomy, if (like a certain prin- 
cess) we have a taste that way, in the surgeons' 
dissecting-rooms ; we do not look upon pictures to 
nave our minds agonized and contaminated by the 
sight of human turpitude and barbarity, streaming 
blood, quivering flesh, wounds, tortures, death, and 
horrors in every shape, even though it should be 
all very natural. Painting has been called the 
handmaid of nature ; is it not the duty of a hand- 
maid to array her mistress to the best possible 

* Artemisia Gentileschi. She died in 1662. 



B02 FLORENCE. 

advantage ? At least to keep her infirmities and 
deformities from view, and not to expose her too 
undressed ? 

But I am not so weak, so cowardly, so fastidious, 
as to shrink from every representation of human 
Buffering, provided that our sympathy be not strained 
beyond a certain point. To please is the genuine 
aim of painting, as of all the fine arts ; when pleas- 
ure is conveyed through deeply excited interest, by 
affecting the passions, the senses, and the imagina- 
tion, painting assumes a higher character, and al- 
most vies with tragedy : in fact, it is tragedy to the 
eye, and is amenable to the same laws. The St. 
Sebastians of Guido and Razzi ; the St. Jerome of 
Domenichino; the sternly beautiful Judith of Al- 
lori ; the Pieta of Raffaelle ; the San Pietro Mar- 
tire of Titian ; are all so many tragic scenes, where- 
in whatever is revolting in circumstances or char- 
acter is judiciously kept from view, where human 
suffering is dignified by the moral lesson it is made 
to convey, and its effect on the beholder at once 
softened and heightened by the redeeming grace 
which genius and poetry have shed like a glory 
round it. 

Allowing all this, I am yet obliged to confess that 
I am wearied with this class of pictures, and that I 
wish there were fewer of them. 

But there is one subject which never tires, at 
least never tires me, however varied, repeated, mul- 
tiplied. A subject so lovely in itself that the mosl 



FLORENCE. 803 

eminent painter cannot easily embellish it, or the 
meanest degrade it ; a subject which comes home 
to our own bosoms and dearest feelings ; in which 
we may " lose ourselves in all delightfulness " and 
indulge unreproved pleasure. I mean the Virgin 
and Child, or in other words, the abstract personi- 
fication of what is loveliest, purest, and dearest, 
under heaven — maternal tenderness, virgin meek- 
ness, and childish innocence, and the beauty of holi- 
ness over all. 

It occurred to me to-day, that if a gallery could 
oe formed of this subject alone, selecting one speci- 
men from among the works of every painter, it 
would form not only a comparative index to their 
different styles, but we should find, on recurring to 
what is known of the lives and characters of the 
great masters, that each has stamped some pecu- 
liarity of his own disposition on his Virgins ; and 
that, after a little consideration and practice, a very 
fair guess might be formed of the character of each 
artist, by observing the style in which he has treat- 
ed this beautiful and favorite subject. 

Take Raffaelle, for example, whose delightful 
character is dwelt upon by all his biographers ; his 
genuine nobleness of soul, which raised him far 
above interest, rivalship, or jealousy; the gentle- 
ness of his temper, the suavity of his manners, tne 
sweetness of his disposition, the benevolence of his 
heart, which rendered him so deeply loved and ad- 
mired, even by those who pined away at his suo 



504 FLORENCE. 

cess, and died of his superiority* — are all attested 
by contemporary writers : where, but in his own 
harmonious character, need Raffaelle have looked 
tor the prototypes of his half-celestial creations ? 

His Virgins alone combine every grace which 
the imagination can require — repose, simplicity,, 
meekness, purity, tenderness ; blended without n y 
admixture of earthly passion, yet so varied, that 
though all his Virgins have a general character, 
distinguishing them from those of every other mas- 
ter, no two are exactly alike. In the Madonna del 
Seggiola, for instance, the prevailing expression is 
a serious and pensive tenderness ; her eyes are 
turned from her infant, but she clasps him to her 
bosom, as if it were not necessary to see him, to 
feel him in her heart. In another Holy Family, in 
the Pitti Palace, the predominant expression is ma- 
ternal rapture : in the Madonna di Foligno, it is a 
saintly benignity becoming the Queen of Heaven ■ 
„n the Madonna del Cardellino, it is a meek and 
chaste simplicity : it is the " Vergine dolce e pia " 
of Petrarch. This last picture hangs close to the 
Fornarina in the Tribune, — a strange contrast! 

* The allusion is to La Francia. When Raffaelle sent his famous 
Bt. Cecilia to Bologna, it was intrusted to the care of La Francia, 
who was his particular friend, to be unpacked and hung up. La 
Francia was old, and had for many years held a high rank in his 
profession ; no sooner had he cast his eyes on the St. Cecilia, than 
struck with despair at seeing his highest efforts so immeasurably 
jutdone, he was seized with a deep melancholy, and died shortH 
ifter; — at least so runs the tale. 



PLORENCE. 305 

Raffaelle's love for that haughty and voluptuous 
virago, had nothing to do with his conception of 
ideal beauty and chastity ; and could one of his own 
Virgins have walked out of her frame, or if her 
prototype could have been found on earth, he would 
have felt, as others have felt — that to look upon 
Buch a being with aught of unholy passion, would 
be profanation indeed. 

Next to Raffaelle, I would rank Correggio, as a 
painter of Virgins. Correggio was remarkable for 
the humility and gentleness of his deportment, for 
his pensive and somewhat anxious disposition, and 
kindly domestic feelings : these are the characteris- 
tics which have poured themselves forth upon his 
Madonnas. They are distinguished generally by 
the utmost sweetness, delicacy, grace, and devo- 
tional feeling. I remember reading somewhere 
that Correggio had a large family, and was a par- 
ticularly fond father ; and it is certain, that in the 
expression of maternal tenderness, he is superior 
to all but Raffaelle : his Holy Family in the Studii 
at Naples, and his lovely Virgin in the gallery, are 
instances. 

Guido ranks next in my estimation, as a painter 
of Virgins. He is described as an elegant and ac- 
complished man, remarkable for the modesty of his 
disposition, and the dignity and grace of his man- 
ner ; as delicate in his personal habits, and sump 
tuous in his dress and style of living. He had 
unfortunately contracted a taste for gaming, which 
20 



SO* FLORENCE. 

latterly plunged him into difficulties, and tinged his 
tnind with bitterness and melancholy. All his heads 
have a peculiar expression of elevated beauty, which 
has been called Guido's air. His Madonnas are all 
but heavenly : they are tender, dignified, lovely — 
but when compared with Raffaelle's, they seem 
more touched with earthly feeling, and have less of 
the pure ideal : they are, if I may so express my- 
self, too sentimental: sentiment is, in truth, the dis- 
tinguishing characteristic of Guido's style. It is 
remarkable, that towards the end of his life, Guido 
more frequently painted the Mater Dolorosa, and 
gave to the heads of his Madonnas a look of 
melancholy, disconsolate resignation, which is ex- 
tremely affecting. 

Titian's character is well known : his ardent 
cheerful temper, his sanguine enthusiastic mind, 
his love of pleasure, his love of women ; and true 
it is, that through all his glowing pictures, we trace 
the voluptuary. His Virgins are rather " Des 
jeunes Spouses de la veille" — far too like his 
Venuses and his mistresses : they are all luxuriant 
human beauty ; with that peculiar air of blandish- 
ment which he has thrown into all his female heads, 
even into his portraits, and his old women. Wit- 
ness his lovely Virgin in the Vatican, his Mater 
Sapiential, and his celebrated Assumption at Venice, 
in which the eyes absolutely float in rapture. Therfc 
is nothing ideal in Titian's conception of beauty 
he paints no saints and goddesses fancy-bred : hi# 



FLORENCE. 307 

females are all true, lovely women; not like the 
heavenly creations of Raffhelle, looking as if a 
touch, a breath would profane them; but warm 
flesh and blood — heart and soul — with life in their 
eyes, and love upon their lips : even over his Mag- 
dalenes, his beauty-breathing pencil has shed a 
something which says, 

A misura che amb — 
Piange i suoi falli ! 

But this is straying from my subject; as I have 
embarked in this fanciful hypothesis, I shall multi- 
ply my proofs and examples as far as I can, from 
memory. 

In some account I have read of Murillo, he is 
emphatically styled an honest man : this is all I can 
remember of his character ; and truth and nature 
prevail through all his pictures. In his Virgins, 
we can trace nothing elevated, poetical, or heav- 
enly : they have not the ideality of Raffaelle's, nor 
the tender sweetness of Correggio's ; nor the glow- 
ing loveliness of Titian's ; but they have an indi- 
vidual reality about them, which gives them the air 
of portraits. That chef-d'oeuvre, in the Pitti Palace, 
for instance, call it a beautiful peasant girl and her 
baby, and it is faultless : but when I am told it is 
the " Vergine gloriosa, del Re Eterno Madre, Figli- 
tola, e Sposa" I look instaotly for something far 
beyond what I see expressed. All Murillo's Vir- 
gins are so different from each other, that it is plain 



308 FLORENCE. 

the artist did not paint from any preconceived idea 
in his own mind, but from different originals : they 
are all impressed with that general air of truth, 
nature, and common life, which stamps upon them 
a peculiar and distinct character. 

Andrea del Sarto, who is in style as in character 
the very reverse of Murillo, fascinated me at first 
by his enchanting coloring, and the magical aerial 
depths of his chiaro-oscuro ; but on a further ac- 
quaintance with his works, I was struck by the 
predominance of external form and color ovei 
mind and feeling. His Virgins look as if they had 
been born and bred in the first circles of society, 
and have a particular air of elegance, an artificial 
grace, an attraction, which may be entirely traced 
to exterior; to the cast of the features, the contour 
of the form, the disposition of the draperies, the 
striking attitudes, and, above all, the divine color- 
ing: beauty and dignity, and powerful effect, we 
always find in his pictures : but no moral pathos — 
no poetry — no sentiment — above all, a strange and 
total want of devotional expression, simplicity, and 
humility. His Virgin with St. Francis and St. 
John, which hangs behind the Venus in the Tri- 
bunes, is a wonderful picture ; and there are two 
charming Madonnas in the Borghese Palace at 
Rome. In the first, we are struck by the grouping 
imd coloring; in the last, by a certain graceful 
kengtMness of the limbs, and fine animated drawing 
in the attitudes. But we look in vain for the " sa> 



ILORENCB. 309 

ered and the sweet," for heart, for soul, for corn* 
tenance. 

Andrea del Sarto had, in his profession, great 
talents rather than genius and enthusiasm. He 
was weak, dissipated, unprincipled ; without eleva- 
tion of mind or generosity of temper ; and that hia 
moral character was utterly contemptible, is proved 
by one trait in his life. A generous patron who 
had relieved him in his necessity, afterwards en- 
trusted him with a considerable sum of money, to 
be laid out in certain purchases ; Andrea del Sarto 
perfidiously embezzled the whole, and turned it to 
his own use. This story is told in his life, with the 
addition that " he was persuaded to it by his wife, 
as profligate and extravagant as himself." 

Carlo Dolce's gentle, delicate, and melancholy 
temperament, are strongly expressed in his own 
portrait, which is in the Gallery of Paintings here. 
All his pictures are tinged by the morbid delicacy 
of his constitution, and the refinement of his char- 
acter and habits. They have exquisite finish, but 
a want of power, degenerating at times into cold- 
ness and feebleness ; his Madonnas are distinguished 
by regular feminine beauty, melancholy, devotion 
or resigned sweetness: he excelled in the Mater 
Dolorosa. The most beautiful of his Virgins is in 
the Pitti Palace, of which picture there is a dupli- 
cate in the Borghese Palace at Rome. 

Carlo Maratti, without distinguished merit of any 
tind — unless it was a distingu : sbed merit to be the 



510 FLORENCE. 

father of Faustina Zappi, — owed his fortune, hii 
title of Cavaliere, and the celebrity he once enjoyed, 
not to any superiority of genius, but to his success- 
ful arts as a courtier, and his assiduous flattery of 
the great. What can be more characteristic of the 
man, than his simpering Virgins, fluttering in taste- 
less, many-colored draperies, with their sky blue 
backgrounds, and golden clouds ? 

Caravaggio was a gloomy misanthrope and a 
profligate ruffian : we read, that he was banished 
from Rome, for a murder committed in a drunken 
brawl ; and that he died at last of debauchery and 
want. Caravaggio was perfect in his gamblers, 
robbers, and martyrdoms, and should never have 
meddled with Saints and Madonnas /n his famous 
Pieta in the Vatican, the Virgin is an old beggar- 
woman, the two Maries are fish-wives, in " maudlin 
sorrow," and St. Peter, and St. John, a couple of 
bravoes, burying a murdered traveller : dipinse 
ferocemente sempre, perche feroce era il suo carrat- 
tere, says his biographer: an observation by the 
way in support of my hypothesis. 

Rubens, with all his transcendent genius, had a 
coarse imagination ; he bore the character of an 
honest, liberal, but not very refined man. Rubens 
painted Virgins — would he had let them alone ! fat, 
comfortable farmers' wives, nursing their chubby 
children. Then follows Vandyke in the opposite 
extreme. Vandyke was celebrated in his day, foi 
liiis personal accomplishments : he was, say his biog 



FLORENCE. 811 

raphers, a complete scholar, courtier, and gentle- 
man. His beautiful Madonnas are accordingly, 
what we might expect — rather too intellectual and 
lady-like : they all look as if they had been polished 
by education. 

The grand austere genius of Michel Angelo was 
little calculated to portray the dove-like meekness 
of the Vergine dolce e pia, or the playfulness of 
infantine beauty. In his Mater Amabilis, sweet- 
ness and beauty are sacrificed to expression ; and 
dignity is exaggerated into masculine energy. In 
the Mater Dolorosa, suffering is tormented into 
agony : the anguish is too human : it is not suffi- 
ciently softened by resignation ; and makes us turn 
away with a too painful sympathy. Such is the 
admirable head in the Palazzo Litti at Milan ; such 
his sublime Pieta in the Vatican — but the last, 
being in marble, is not quite a case in point. 

I will mention but two more painters of whose 
lives and characters I know nothing yet, and may 
therefore fairly make their works a test of both, 
and judge of them in their Madonnas, and after- 
wards measure my own penetration and the truth 
of my hypothesis, by a reference to the biographi- 
cal writers. 

In the few pictures I have seen of Carlo Cig- 
nani, I have been struck by the predominance of 
mind and feeling over mere external form - , there 
is a picture of his in the Rospigliosi Palace — or 
rather, to give an example which is nearer at hand, 



512 FLORENCE. 

and fresh in my memory, there is in the gallery 
here, his Madonna del Rosario. It represents a 
beautiful young woman, evidently of plebeian race 
the form of the face is round, the features have 
nothing of the beau-ideal, and the whole head 
wants dignity : yet has the painter contrived to 
throw into this lovely picture an inimitable expres- 
sion which depends on nothing external, which in 
the living prototype we should term countenance , 
as if a chastened consciousness of her high destiny 
and exalted character shone through the natural 
rusticity of her features, and touched them with a 
certain grace and dignity, emanating from the mind 
alone, which only mind could give, and mind per- 
ceive. I have seen within the last few days, three 
copies of this picture, in all of them the charming 
simplicity and rusticity, but in none the exquisite 
expression of the original : even the hands are ex- 
pressive, without any particular delicacy or beauty 
of form. An artist who was copying the picture 
to-day while I looked at it, remarked this; and 
confessed he had made several unsuccessful at- 
tempts to render the fond pressure of the fingers 
as she clasps the child to her bosom. 

Were I to judge of Carlo Cignani by his works, 
I should pronounce him a man of elevated charac- 
ter, noble by instinct, if not by descent, but simple 
in his habits, and a despiser of outward show antf 
ostentation, 

The other painter I alluded to, is Sasso Ferrato, 



FLORENCE. 31 S 

R great and admired manufacturer of Virgins, but 
a mere copyist, without pathos, power, or origin- 
ality : sometimes he resembles Guido, sometimes 
Carlo Dolce ; but the graceful harmonious delicacy 
of the former, becomes coldness and flatness in his 
hands, and the refinement and sweetness of the 
latter, sink into feebleness and insipidity. Were I 
to judge of his character by his Madonnas, I should 
suppose that Sasso Ferrato had neither original 
genius nor powerful intellect, nor warmth of heart, 
nor vivacity of temper ; that he was, in short, a 
mere mild, inoffensive, good sort of man, studious 
and industrious in his art, not without a feeling for 
the excellence he wanted power to attain.* 

I might pursue this subject further, but my mem- 
ory fails, my head aches, and my pen is tired for 
to-night. 

* * * * * 

Both here and at Rome, I have found consider- 
able amusement in looking over the artists who are 
usually employed in copying or studying from the 
celebrated pictures in the different galleries ; but I 
have been taught discretion on such occasions by a 
ridiculous incident which occurred the other day, 
as absurdly comic as it was unlucky and vexatious. 
A friend of mine observing an artist at work in the 
Pitti Palace, whom, by his total silence and inat- 

* Forsyth complains of some celebrated Midonnas being urwm- 
passioned: with submission to Forsyth's 'a-ste and acumen- 
*utrhi they to be impassi med ? 



3 J 4 FLORENCE. 

tention to all around, she supposed to be a native 
Italian who did not understand a word of English, 
went up to him, and peeping over his shoulder, ex- 
claimed with more truth than discretion, " Ah ! 
what a hideous attempt ! that will never be like, 
I'm sure ! " "I am very sorry you think so, 
ma'am ! " replied the painter, coolly looking up in 
her face. He must have read in that beautiful face 
an expression which deeply avenged the cause of 
his affronted picture. 

We have been twice to the opera since we ar 
rived here. At the Pergola, Bassi, though a 
woman, is the Primo Uomo ; the rare quality of 
her voice, which is a kind of rich deep mezzoso- 
prano, unfitting her for female parts. Her voice 
and science are so admirable, that it would be deli* 
cious to hear her blindfold ; but her large clumsy 
figure disguised, or rather exposed in masculine 
attire, is quite revolting. 

At the Cocomero, we had the " Italiana in Al- 
lien : " the Prima Donna, who is an admired 
singer, gave the comic airs with great power and 
effect, but her bold execution and her ungraceful, 
unliquid voice disgusted me, and I came away 
fatigued and dissatisfied. The dancing is execra- 
ble at both theatres. 

From one end of Italy to the other, nothing is 
listened to in the way of music but Rossini and his 
imitators. The man must have a transcendent 
genius, who can lead and pervert the taste of his 



FLORENCE. 815 

age as Rossini has done ; but unfortunately those 
who have not his talent, who cannot reach his 
beauties nor emulate his airy brilliance of imagina- 
tion, think to imitate his ornamented style hy 
merely crowding note upon note, semi-quavers, 
de.ini-semi-quavers, and semi-demi-semi-quavers in 
most perplexed succession ; and thus all Italy and 
thence all Europe, is deluged with this busy, fussy, 
hurry-skurry music, which means nothing, and 
leaves no trace behind it either on the fancy or the 
memory. Must it be ever thus ? are Paesiello and 
Pergolesi and Cimarosa — and those divine German 
masters, who formed themselves on the Italian 
school and surpassed it — Winter and Mozart * and 
Gluck — are they eternally banished? must sense 
and feeling be forever sacrificed to mere sound 
the human organ degraded into a mere instru- 
ment, f and the ear tickled with novelty and mere- 
tricious ornament, till the taste is utterly diseased ? 
There was a period in the history of Italian 

* Dr. Holland once told me, that when travelling in Iceland, he 
had heard one of Mozart's melodies played and sung by an Ice- 
landic girl, and that some months afterwards he heard the very 
game air sung to the guitar by a Greek lady at Salonica. Yet the 
Bon of that immortal genius, who has dispensed delight from one 
extremity of Europe to the other, and from his urn still rules the 
entranced senses of millions — Charles Mozart, is a joor music 
paster at Milan! this should not be. 

t What Beccaria said in his day is most true of ours, " on paie 
«s musiciens pour emouvoir, on paie les danseurs de corde pour 
Si'tonner, e* la plus grande partie des musiciens veulent faire l«f 
•anseurs de corae. 



316 LUCCA. 

literature, when the great classical writers were 
decried and neglected, and the genius of one man 
depraved the taste of the age in which he lived. 
Marini introduced, or at least rendered general 
and fashionable, that far-fetched wit, that tinsel 
and glittering style, that luxurious pomp of words, 
which was easily imitated by talents of a lower 
order : yet in the Adonis there are many redeem- 
ing passages, some touches of real pathos, and some 
stanzas of natural and beautiful description : and 
thus it is with Rossini ; his best operas contain 
some melodies among the finest ever composed, 
and even in his worst, the ear is every now and 
then roused and enchanted by a few bars of grace- 
ful and beautiful melody, to be in the next moment 
again bewildered in the maze of unmeaning notes, 
and the clash of overpowering accompaniments. 

Lucca, April 23. 

Lucca disappoints me in every respect : it was 
once, when a republic, one of the most flourishing, 
rich, and populous cities in Italy ; it is now con- 
signed over to the Ex-queen of Etruria; and its 
fate will be perhaps the same as that of Venice, 
Pisa, and Sienna, which, when they lost their inde- 
pendence, lost also their public spirit, their public 
virtue, and their prosperity. 

It is impossible to conceive any thing more rich 
and beautiful, than the country between Florence 
and Lucca, though it can boast little of the elevated 



LUCCA. 31? 

picturesque, and is destitute of poetical associations. 
The road lay through valleys, with the Apennines 
(which are here softened down into gentle sunny 
hills) on each side. Every spot of ground is in 
the highest state of cultivation ; the boundaries be- 
tween the small fields of wheat or lupins, were 
rows of olives or mulberries, with an interminable 
treillage of vines flung from tree to tree. In Eng- 
land we should be obliged to cut them all down, for 
fear of depriving the crops of heat and sunshine, 
but here they have no such fears. The style of 
husbandry is exquisitely neat, and in general per- 
formed by manual labour. The only plough I saw 
would have excited the amusement and amazement 
of an English farmer : I should think it was exactly 
similar to the ploughs of Virgil's time : it was 
drawn by an ox and an ass yokod together, and 
guided by a woman. The whole country looked 
as if it had been laid out by skilful gardeners, and 
the hills in many parts were cut into terraces, that 
not one available inch of soil might be lost. The 
products of this luxuriant country are corn, silk, 
wine, and principally oil ; potteries abound, th« 
making of jars and flasks being an immense and 
necessary branch of trade. 

The city of Lucca has an appearance in itself of 
stately solemn dulness, and bears no trace of the 
smiling prosperity of the adjacent country; the 
ehops are poor and empty, there are no sigrrs of 
susiness, and the streets swarm with beggars. The 



518 pisa. 

nterior of the Duomo is a fine specimen of Gothic, 
the exterior is Greek, Gothic, and Saracenic 
jumbled together in vile taste ; it contains nothing 
very interesting. The palace is like other palaces, 
very fine and so forth ; and only remarkable for 
not containing one good picture or one valuable 
work of art. 

Pisa, April 25. 

Pisa has a look of elegant tranquillity, which is 
not exactly dulness, and pleases me particularly ; 
if the thought of its past independence, the memory 
of its once proud name in arts, arms, and literature, 
come across the mind, it is not accompanied by 
any painful regret caused by the sight of present 
misery and degradation, but by that philosophic 
melancholy with which we are used to contemplate 
the mutability of earthly greatness. 

The Duomo, the Baptistry, the Leaning Tower, 
and the Campo Santo, stand altogether in a fine 
open elevated part of the city. The Duomo is a 
magnificent edifice in bad taste. The interior, 
with its noble columns of oriental granite, is grand, 
sombre, and very striking. As to the style of 
architecture, it would be difficult to determine what 
name to give it ; it is not Greek, nor Gothic, nor 
Saxon, and exhibits a strange mixture of Pagan 
and Christian ornaments, not very unfrequent in 
Italian churches. The Leaning Tower should be 
sontemplated from the portico of the church t« 



LEGHORN. 319 

height en its effect: when the perpendicular column 
cuts it to the eye hke a plumb line, the obliquity 
appears really terrific. 

The Campo Santo is an extraordinary place : it 
affects the mind like the cloisters of one of our 
Gothic cathedrals which it resembles in effect 
Means have lately been taken to preserve the 
singular frescos on the walls, which for five hundred 
vears have been exposed to the open air. 

I remarked the tomb of that elegant fabulist 
Pignotti ; the last personage of celebrity buried in 
the Campo Santo. 

The university of Pisa is no longer what it waa 
when France and Venice had nearly gone to war 
about one of its law professors, and its colleges 
ranked next to those of Padua ; it has declined in 
fame, in riches, and in discipline. The Botanic 
Garden was a few years ago the finest in all 
Europe, and is still maintained with great cost and 
care; it contains a lofty magnolia, the stem of 
which is as bulky as a good-sized tree ; the gar- 
dener told us rather poetically, that when in blos- 
som it perfumed the whole city of Pisa. 

Leghorn, April 26. 
So different from any thing we have yet seen in 
Italy ! busy streets — gay shops — various costumes- - 
Greeks, Turks, Jews, and Christians, mingled on 
terms of friendly equality — a crowded port, and all 
the activity of prosperous commerce. 



520 LEGHORN. 

Leghorn is in every sense a free port : all kinds 
of merchandise enter exempt frcm duty, all relig- 
ons are equally tolerated, and all nations trade 
on an equal footing. 

The Jews, who are in every other city a shunned 
and degraded race, are among the most opulent 
and respectable inhabitants of Leghorn ; their 
quarter is the richest, and, I may add, the dirtiest 
in the city ; their synagogue here is reckoned the 
finest in Europe, and I was induced to visit it 
yesterday at the hour of worship. I confess I was 
much disappointed; and, notwithstanding my in- 
clination to respect always what is respectable in 
the eyes of others, I never felt so strong a disposi- 
tion to smile. An old Rabbi with a beard of ven- 
erable length, a pointed bonnet, and a long white 
veil, got up into a superb marble pulpit and 
chanted in strange nasal tones, something which 
was repeated after him in various and discordant 
voices by the rest of the assembly. The congrega- 
tion consisted of an uncouth set of men and boys, 
many of them from different parts of the Levant, 
in the dresses of their respective countries ; there 
was no appearance of devotion, no solemnity ; all 
wore their hats, some were poring over ragged 
books, some were talking, some sleeping, or loung- 
ing, or smoking. While I stood looking about 
ine, without exciting the smallest attention, I 
ueard at ever} pause a prodigious chattering and 
whispering, which seemed to come from the regioni 



LUCCA. 82J 

above, and looking up, I saw a row of latticed 
and screened galleries, where the women were 
caged up like the monkeys at a menagerie, and 
seemed as noisy, as restless, and as impatient of 
confinement : the door-keeper offered to introduce 
me among them, but I was already tired and glad 
to depart. 

***** 
We have visited the pretty English burial-ground, 
and the tomb of Smollet, which in the true English 
style is cut and scratched all over with the names 
of fools, who think thus to link their own insignifi- 
cance to his immortality. We have also seen what- 
ever else is to be seen, and what all travellers 
describe : to-morrow we leave Leghorn — for myself 
without regret : it is a place with which I have no 
sympathies, and the hot, languid, damp atmos- 
phere, which depresses the spirits and relaxes the 
nerves, has made me suffer ever since we arrived. 

***** 

Lucca 

Had I never visited Italy, I think I should never 
have understood the word picturesque. In Eng- 
land, we apply, it generally to rural objects or 
natural scenery, for nothing else in England can 
deserve the epithet. Civilization, cleanliness, and 
comfort, are excellent things, but they are sworn 
enemies to the picturesque: they have banished 
r t gradually from our towns, and habitations, into 
21 



822 LUCCA. 

remote countries, and little nooks and cornel's, 
where we are obliged to hunt after it to find it ; 
but in Italy the picturesque is every where, in 
every variety of form ; it meets us at every turn, 
in town and in country, at all times and seasons; 
the commonest object of every-day life here be- 
comes picturesque, and assumes from a thousand 
causes a certain character of poetical interest it 
cannot have elsewhere. In England, when trav- 
elling in some distant county, we see perhaps a 
craggy hill, a thatched cottage, a mill on a winding 
stream, a rosy milkmaid, or a smock-frocked 
laborer, whistling after his plough, and we ex- 
claim " how picturesque ! " Travelling in Italy, we 
see a piny mountain, a little dilapidated village on 
its declivity, the ruined temple of Jupiter or Apollo 
on its summit; a peasant with a bunch cf rosea 
hanging from his hat, and singing to his guitar, or 
a contadina in her white veil and scarlet petticoat, 
and we exclaim " how picturesque ! " but how dif- 
ferent ! Again — a tidy drill or a hay-cart, with a 
team of fine horses, is a very useful, valuable, civil- 
ized machine; but a grape-wagon reeling under 
its load of purple clusters, and drawn by a pair of 
oxen in their clumsy, ill-contrived harness, and 
bowing their patient heads to the earth, is much 
more picturesque. A spinning-wheel is very con- 
venient, it must be allowed, but the distaff and 
spindle are much more picturesque. A snug Eng- 
lish villa with its shaven lawn, its neat shrubbery 



LUCCA. 32S 

and its park, is a delightful thing— an Italian villa 
is probably far less comfortable, but with its vine- 
yards, its gardens, its fountains, and statues, is fa* 
more picturesque. A laundry maid at her wash- 
tub, immersed in soap-suds, is a vulgar idea, though 
our clothes may be the better for it. I shall never 
forget the group of women I saw at Terracina, 
washing their linen in a bubbling brook as clear as 
crystal, which rushed from the mountains to the 
Bea — there were twenty of them at least, — grouped 
with the most graceful effect, some standing up to 
the mid-leg in the stream, others spreading the 
linen on the sunny bank, some, flinging back their 
long hair, stood shading their brows with their 
hands and gazing on us as we passed : it was a 
scene for a poet, or a painter, or a melodrama. An 
English garden, adorned at every turn with statues 
of the heathen deities, (although they were all but 
personifications of the various attributes of nature,) 
would be ridiculous. Setting aside the injury thev 
must sustain from our damp variable climate, they 
would be out of keeping with all around ; here it is 
altogether different ; the very air of Italy is embued 
with the spirit of ancient mythology ; and though 
" the fair humanities of old religion," the Nymphs, 
the Fauns, the Dryads, be banished from their 
haunts, and live no longer in the faith of reason, 
yet still, whithersoever we turn, some statue, some 
temple in ruins, some fragment of an altar, some 
inscription half effaced, come name half-barbarized, 



824 LUCCA. 

recalls to the fancy those forms of light, of beauty, 
of majesty, which poetry created to people scenes 
for which mere humanity was not in itself half 
pure enough, fair enough, bright enough. 

What can be more grand than a noble forest of 
English oak ? or more beautiful than a grove of 
beeches and elms, clothed in their rich autumnal 
tints ? or more delicious than the apple orchard in 
full bloom ? but it is true, notwithstanding, that 
the olive, and cypress, and cedar, the orange and 
the citron, the fig and the pomegranate, the myrtle 
and the vine, convey a different, and more luxuri- 
ant feeling to the mind ; and are associated with 
ideas which give to the landscape they adorn a 
character more delightfully, more poetically pic- 
turesque. 

When, at Lord Grosvenor's or Lord Stafford's, I 
have been seated opposite to some beautiful Italian 
landscape, a Claude or a Poussin, with a hill 
crowned with olives, a ruined temple, & group of 
peasants seated on a fallen column, or dancing to 
the pipe and the guitar, and over all the crimson 
glow of evening, or the violet tints of morning, 
I have exclaimed with others, " How lovely ! how 
picturesque, how very poetical ! " No one thought 
of saying ' How natural I ' because it is a style of 
nature with which we are totally unacquainted : 
and if some amateurs of real taste and feeling 
prefer a rural cattle scene of Paul Potter or Cuyp : 
to all the grand or lovely creations of £alvator, o> 



323 



Claude, or Poussin, it is perhips, because the 
former are associated in their minds with reality 
and familiar nature, while the latter appear in 
comparison mere inventions of th« painter's fertile 
fancy, mere visionary representations of what may 
or might exist, but which do not come home to the 
memory or the mind with the force of truth or de- 
lighted recollection. So when I have been trav- 
elling in Italy, how often I have exclaimed, " How 
like a picture ! " and I remember once, while con- 
templating a most glorious sunset from the banks 
of the Arno, I caught myself saying, " This is truly 
one of Claude's sunsets ! " Now should I live to 
see again one of my favorite Grosvenor Claudes, 
I shall probably exclaim, " How natural J how like 
what I have seen so often on the Arno, oj ^rom the 
Monte Pincio ! " 

And, in conclusion, let it be remeint>.<re4 by 
those who are inclined to smile (as I have c'ten 
done) when travellers fresh from Italy rave almost 
in blank verse, and think it all as unmeaning as 

" Lutes, laurels, seas of milk, and ships of amber ! " 

—let them recollect that it is not alone the visiblp 
picturesque of Italy which thus intoxicates ; it ia 
not only her fervid skies, her sunsets, which envel- 
ope one-ialf of heaven from the horizon to the 
zenith, in a living blaze ; nor her soaring pine-clad 
mountains; nor her azure seas; nor her field* 



326 GENOA. 

" ploughed by the sunbeams ; " nor her gorgeous 
cities, spread out with all their domes and towers, 
unobscured by cloud or vapors ; — but it is some- 
thing more than these, something beyond, and over 
all— 



The gleam, 



The light that never was on sea or land 
The consecration, and the poet's dream! 



Genoa, 30. 

We arrived here late, and I should not write 
now, weary, weak, sick, and down-spirited as I am, 
did I not know how the impressions of one day 
efface those of the former ; and as I cannot sleep, 
it is better to scribble than to think. 

As to describing all I have seen, thought,' and 
felt in three days, that were indeed impossible : I 
think I have exhausted all my prose eloquence, 
and all allowable raptures ; so that, unless I ramble 
into absolute poetry, I dare not say a word of the 
scenery around Sarzana and Lerici. After spend- 
ing one evening at Sarzana, in lingering through 
green lanes and watching the millions of fire-flies, 
sparkling in the dark shade of the trees, and lost 
again in the brilliant moonlight — we left it the 
next morning about sunrise, to embark in a felucca 
at Lerici, as the road between Spezia and Sestri 
Is n^t yet completed. The groves and vineyard! 



GENOA. 327 

on each side of the road were filled with nightin- 
gales, singing in concert loud enough to overpower 
the sound of our carriage-wheels, and the whole 
scene, as the sun rose over it, and the purple 
shadows threw off and disclosed it gradually to the 
eye, was so enchanting — that positively I will say 
nothing about it. 

Lerici is a small fishing-town on the Gulf of 
Spezia. Here I met with an adventure which, 
with a little exaggeration and embellishment, such 
as no real story-teller ever spares, would make an 
admirable morceau for a quarto tourist; but, in 
simple truth, was briefly thus. 

While some of our party were at breakfast, and 
the servants and sailors were embarking the car- 
riages and baggage, I sat down to sketch the old 
gray fort on the cliff above the town ; but every 
time I looked up, the scene was so inexpressibly 
gay and lovely, it was with difficulty and reluctance 
I could turn my eyes down to my paper again ; 
and soon I gave up the attempt, and threw away 
both paper and pencil. It struck me that the view 
from, the castle itself must be a thousand times 
finer than the view of the castle from below, and 
without loss of time I proceeded to explore the 
path leading to it. With some fatigue and diffi- 
culty, and after losing myself once or twice, I 
reached the top of the rock, and there a wicket 
opened into a walled passage cm; into steps to ease 
Ahe ascent I knocked at the wicket with three 



328 GENOA. 

strokes, that being the orthodox style of demanding 
entrance into the court of an enchanted castle, 
using my parasol instead of a dagger,* and no one 
appearing, I entered, and in a few moments 
reached a small paved terrace in front of the for- 
tress, defended towards the sea by a low parapet 
wall. The massy portal was closed, and instead 
of a bugle-horn hanging at the gate, I found only 
the handle and fragments of an old birch-broom, 
which base utensil I presently applied to the pur- 
pose of a horn, viz : sounding an alarm, and 
knocked and knocked — but no hoary-headed sen 
eschal nor armed warder appeared at my summons. 
After a moment's hesitation, I gave the door a 
push with all my strength : it yielded, creaking on 
its hinges, and I stepped over the raised threshold. 
I found myself in a low dark vaulted hall, which 
appeared at first to have no communication with 
any other chamber : but on advancing cautiously 
to the end, I found a low door in the side, which 
had once been defended by a strong iron grating, 
of which some part remained : it led to a flight of 
Btone stairs, which I began to ascend slowly, stop- 
ping every moment to listen ; but all was still as 
the grave. On each side of this winding staircase 
I peeped into several chambers, all solitary and 
ruinous : more and more surprised, I continued to 



• With dagger's hilt upon the gate, 

Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?— Soon 



GENOA. 329 

ascend till I put my head unexpectedly through a 
trap-door, and found myself on the roof of the 
tower : it was spacious, defended by battlements, 
and contained the only signs of warlike preparation 
I had met with ; videlicet, two cannons, or culverins, 
as they are called, and a pyramidal heap of balls, 
rusted by the sea air. 

I sat down on one of the cannon, and leaning 
on the battlements, surveyed the scene around, 
below me, with a feeling of rapture, not a little 
enhanced by the novelty and romance of my situ- 
ation. I was alone — I had no reason to think 
there was a single human being within hearing. I 
was at such a vast height above the town and the 
shore, that not a sound reached me, except an in- 
distinct murmur now and then, borne upwards by 
the breeze, and the scream of the sea-fowl as they 
wheeled round and round my head. I looked 
down giddily upon the blue sea, all glowing and 
trembling in the sunshine : and the scenery around 
me was such as the dullest eye — the coldest, the 
most unimaginative soul, could not have contem- 
plated without emotion. I sat, I know not how 
long, abandoned to reveries, sweet and bitter, till 
I was startled by footsteps close to me, and turning 
round, I beheld a figure so strange and fantastic, 
and considering the time, place, and circumstance, 
bo incomprehensible and extraordinary, that I was 
dumb with surprise. It was a little spare old man, 
with a face and form which resembled the anatomy 



330 GENOA. 

of a baboon, dressed in an ample nightgown of 
flowered silk, which hung upon him as if it had 
been made for a giant, and trailed on the ground, 
a yard and a half behind him. He had no stock- 
ings, but on his feet a pair of red slippers, turned 
up in front like those the Turks wear. His beard 
was grizzled, and on his head he wore one of the 
long many-colored woollen caps usually worn in 
this country, with two tassels depending from it, 
which nearly reached his knees. I had full time 
to examine the appearance and costume of this 
strange apparition as he stood before me, bowing 
profoundly, and looking as if fright and wonder 
had deprived him of speech. As soon as I had 
recovered from my first amazement, I replied to 
every low bow by as low a courtesy, and waited 
till it should please him to begin the parley. 

At length he ventured to ask, in bad provincial 
Italian, what I did there ? 

I replied that I was only admiring the fine pros- 
pect. 

He begged to know " come diavolo " I had got 
there ? 

I assured him I had not got there by any dia- 
bolical aid, but had merely walked through the 
door. 

Santi Apostoli! did not my excellency know 
that, according to the laws and regulations of war 
no one could enter the fort without permission first 
obtained of the governor ? 



GENOA 831 

I apologized politely : "And where," sai d I, "is 
the governor ? " 

" II Governatore son io per servirla ! " he replied, 
with a low how. 

You ! che bel ceffo ! thought I — " and what, 
Signor Governor, is the use of your fort ? " 

" To defend the bay and town of Lerici from 
enemies and pirates." 

" But," said I, " I see no soldiers ; where is the 
garrison to defend the fort ? " 

The little old man stepped back two steps — 
" Ecco mi ! " he replied, spreading his hand on his 
breast, and bowing with dignity. 

It was impossible to make any reply : I there- 
fore wished the governor and garrison good morn- 
ing; and disappearing through my trap-door, I 
soon made my way down to the shore, where I 
arrived out of breath, and just in time to step into 
our felucca. 

"5|? 7(? vft vfc Tfc 

If there be a time when we most wish for those 
of whom we always think, when we most love 
those who are always dearest, it must be on such a 
delicious night as that we passed at Sarzana, or on 
such a morning as that we spent at Lerici ; and 
if there be a time when we least love those we 
always love — least wish for them, least think of 
them, it must be in such a moment as the noontide 
»f yesterday — when the dead calm overtook us, 
naif way between Lerici and Sestri, and I sat in 



382 GENOA. 

the stern of our felucca, looking with a sort of 
despairing languor over the smooth purple sea, 
which scarcely heaved round us, while the napping 
sails drooped useless round the masts, and the 
rowers, indolently leaning on their oars, sung in a 
low and plaintive chorus. I sat hour after hour, 
still and silent, sickening in the sunshine, dazzled 
by its reflection on the water, and overcome with 
deadly nausea : I believe nothing on earth could 
have roused me at that moment. But evening, 
impatiently invoked, came at last : the sun set, the 
last gleam of his " golden path of rays " faded from 
the waters ; the sea assumed the hue of ink ; the 
breeze sprang up, and our little vessel, with all its 
white sails spread, glanced like a wild swan over 
the waves, leaving behind " a moon-illumined 
wake." Two hours after dark we reached Sestri, 
where we found miserable accommodations; and 
after foraging in vain for something to eat after 
our day's fast, we crept to bed, all sick, sleepy, 
hungry, and tired. 

We leave Genoa to-morrow : I can say but little 
of it, for I have been ill, as usual, almost ever since 
we arrived ; and though my little Diary has be- 
come to me a species of hobby, I have lately found 
it fatiguing even to write ; and the pleasure and 
interest it used to afford me, diminish daily. 

Genoa, though fallen, is still " Genoa the proud. 
Bhe is lika a noble matron, blooming in years, and 



GENOA. 333 

dignified in decay ; while her rival, Venice, always 
used to remind me of a beautiful courtesan repent- 
ing in sackcloth and ashes, and mingling the ragged 
remnants of her former splendor with the emblems 
of present misery, degradation, and mourning. 
Pursue the train of similitude, — Florence may be 
likened to a blooming bride dressed out to meet 
her lover ; Naples to Tasso's Armida, with all the 
allurements of the Syren, and all the terrors of 
the Sorceress ; Rome sits crowned upon the grave 
of her power, widowed, indeed, and desolate, but 
still, like the queenly Constance, she maintains the 
majesty of sorrow — 

" This is my throne, let kings come bow to it! " 
***** 
The coup-d'ceil of Genoa, splendid as it is, is not 
equal to that of Naples, even setting poetical asso- 
ciations aside : it is built like a crescent round the 
harbor, rising abruptly from the margin of the 
water, which makes the view from the sea so 
beautiful : to the north the hills enclose it round 
like an amphitheatre. The adjacent country is 
covered with villas, gardens, vineyards, woods, and 
olive-groves, forming a scene most enchanting to 
the eye and mind, though of a character very 
different from the savage luxuriance of the south 
tf Italy. 

The view of the ci*y from any of the heights 
wound, more particularly from that part of the 



334 GENOA. 

shore called the Ponente, where we wer>s to-day, 
is grand beyond description : on every side the 
church of Carignano is a beautiful and striking 
object. 

There is but one street, properly so called, in 
Genoa — the Strada Nuova; the others are little 
paved alleys, most of them impassable to carriages, 
both from their narrowness and the irregularity of 
the ground on which the city is built. 

The Strada Nuova is formed of a double line of 
magnificent palaces, among which the Doria Palace 
is conspicuous. The , architecture is in general 
fine ; and when not good is at least pleasing : the 
fronts of the houses are in general gayly painted 
and stuccoed. The best apartments are usually 
at the top ; and the roofs often laid out in terraces, 
or paved with marble and adorned with flowers 
and shrubs. 

I have seen few good pictures here : the best 
collections are those in the Brignolet and Durazzo 
palaces. In the latter are some striking pictures 
by Spagnoletto, (or Bibera, as he is called here.) 
In the Brignolet, the Roman Daughter, by Guido, 
struck me most. I was also pleased by some fine 
pictures of the Genoese painter Piola, who is little 
known beyond Genoa. 

The church of the Carignano, which is a minia- 
hire model of St. Peter's, contains Puget's admirable 
Btatue of St. Sebastian, which Napoleon intended 
to have conveyed to Paris. 



GENOA. 335 



Beauty is no rarity in Genoa : I think I never 
saw so many fine women in one place, though I 
have seen finer faces at Rome and Naples than 
any I see here. The mezzaro, a veil or shawl 
thrown over the head and round the shoulders, is 
universal, and is certainly the most natural and 
becoming dress which can be worn by our sex : 
the materials differ in fineness, from the most 
exquisite lace and the most expensive embroidery 
to a piece of chintz or linen, but the effect is the 
same. This costume, which prevails more or less 
through all Italy, but here is general, gives some- 
thing of beauty to the plainest face, and something 
of elegance to the most vulvar figure ; it can make 
deformity itself look passable ; and when worn by 
a really graceful and beautiful female, the effect is 
peculiarly picturesque and bewitching 

It was a Festa to-day ; and we drove slowly 
along the Ponente after dinner. Nothing could 
be more gay than the streets and public walks, 
crowded with holiday people : the women were in 
proportion as six to one, and looked like groups 
dressed to figure in a melodrame or ballet. 
***** 

When once we have left Genoa behind us, and 
have taken our last look of the blue Mediterranean, 
I shall indeed feel that we have quitted Italy. 
Piedmont is not Italy. Cities which are only 
famous for their sieges and fortifications, plains, 



336 GENOA. 

only celebrated as fields of battle and scenes of 
blood, have neither charms nor interest for me. 

On Monday we set off for Turin : how I dread 
travelling ! and the motion of the carriage, which 
nas now become so painful ! Yet a little, a very 
little longer, and it will all be over. 



FAREWELL TO ITALY. 

Mira il ciel corn's* bello, e" mira il sole, 
Ch'a se par che n'iriYiti, e ne console. 

Farewell to the Land of the South ! 

Farewell to the lovely clime, 
Where the sunny valleys smile in light, 

And the piny mountains climb ! 
Farewell to her bright blue seas ! 
Farewell to her fervid skies ! 

many and deep are the thoughts which crowd 
On the sinking heart, while it sighs, 

" Farewell to the Land of the South! " 

As the look of a face beloved, 

Was that bright land to me ! 
It enchanted my sense, it sank on my heart 

Like music's witchery ! 
In every kindling pulse 

1 felt the genial ah-, 

For life is life in that sunny clime- 
'T is death of life elsewhere : 
Farewell to the Land of the South I 



H 



TURIK. 337 

The poet's splendid dreams 

Have hallowed each grove and hill, 
And the beautiful forms of ancient Faith 

Are lingering round us still. 
And the spirits of other days, 
Invoked by fancy's spell, 
Are rolled before the kindling thought, 

While we breathe our last farewell 

To the glorious Land of the South 1 

A long — a last adieu, 

Komantic Italy ! 
Thou land of beauty, and love, and song, 

As once of the brave and free ! 
Alas ! for thy golden fields ! 
Alas ! for thy classic shore 1 
.Alas ! for thy orange and myrtle bowers ! 

I shall never behold them more — 

Farewell to the Land of the South 1 

Turin, May 10th 
We arrived here yesterday, after a journey to 
me most trying and painful : I thought at Novi, 
and afterwards at Asti, that I should have been 
obliged to give up and confess my inability to 
proceed ; but we know not what we can bear till 
we prove i urselves ; I can live and suffer still. 
* * * * * 

I agree with S * *, who has just left me, that 
nothing can be more animating and improving 
*han the conversation of intelligent and clever 
men, and that lady-society is in general very fade 
and tiresome: and yet I truly believe that no 
22 



838 TURIN. 

woman can devote herself exclusively to the so» 
ciety of men without losing some of the best and 
sweetest characteristics of her sex. The conver- 
sation of men of the world and men of gallantry 
gives insensibly a taint to the mind ; the unceas- 
ing language of adulation and admiration intoxi- 
cates the head and perverts the heart ; the habit 
of tete-a-tetes, the habit of being always either the 
sole or principal object of attention, of mingling in 
no conversation which is not personal, narrows the 
disposition, weakens the mind, and renders it in- 
capable of rising to general views or principles ; 
while it so excites the senses and the imagination, 
that every thing else becomes in comparison stale, 
flat, and unprofitable. The life of a coquette is 
very like that of a drunkard or an opium-eater, 
and its end is the same — the utter extinction of 
intellect, of cheerfulness, of generous feeling, and 
of self-respect. 

***** 

St. Michel, Monday. — I know not why I open 
my book, or why I should keep account of times 
and places. I saw nothing of Turin but what I 
beheld from my window : and as soon as I could 
travel we set off, crossed Mount Cenis in a storm, 
slept at Lans-le-bourg, and reached this place yes- 
terday, where I am again ill, and worse — worse 
than ever. 

Is it not strange that while life is thus rapidly 
wasting, I should still be so strong to suffer ? The 



LYONS. 339 

pang, the agony, is not less acute at this moment 
than when, fifteen months ago, the poniard was 
driven to my heart. The cup, though I have 
nearly drained it to the last, is not less bitter now 
than when first presented to my lips. But this is 
not well ; why indeed should I repine ? mine was 
but a common fate — like a true woman, I did but 
stake my all of happiness upon one cast — and lost ! 
***** 

Lyons, 19th. 

Good God ! for what purpose do we feel ! why, 
within our limited sphere of action, our short and 
imperfect existence, have we such boundless capac- 
ity for enjoying and suffering ? no doubt for some 
good purpose. But I cannot think as I used to 
think : my ideas are perplexed : it is all pain of 
heart and confusion of mind ; a sense of bitterness, 
and wrong, and sorrow, which I cannot express, 
nor yet quite suppress. If the cloud would but 
clear away, that I might feel and see to do what is 
right ! but all is dark, and heavy, and vacant ; my 
mind is dull, and my eyes are dim, and I am scarce 
conscious of any thing around me. 

A few days passed here in quiet, and kind Dr. 
P * *, have revived me a little. 

All the way from Turin I have slept almost con- 
stantly; if that can be called sleep, which was 
rather the stupor of exhaustion, and left me still 
sensible of what was passing round me. I heard 
^ices, though I knew not what they said and ] 



340 LYONS. 

felt myself moved from place to place, though I 
neither knew nor cared whither. 

# * * * * 

All that I have seen and heard, all that I have 
felt and suffered, since I left Italy, recalls to my 
mind that delightful country. I should regret 
what I have left behind, had I not outlived all 
regrets — but one — for there, although 

I vainly sought from outward forms to win 

The passion and the life whose fountains are within ; 
all feeling was not yet worn out of my heart : I 
was not then blinded nor stupefied by sorrow and 
weakness as I have been since. 

There are some places we remember with pleas- 
ure, because we have been happy there; others, 
because endeared to us as the residence of friends. 
We love our country because it is our country; 
our home because it is home : London or Paris we 
may prefer, as comprehending in themselves all 
the intellectual pleasures and luxuries of life : 
but, dear Italy : — we love it simply for its own 
sake : not as in general we are attached to places 
and things, but as we love a friend, and the face 
of a friend ; there it was luxury only to be, to exist — 
there I would willingly have died, if so it migli* 
have pleased God. 

Till this evening we have not seen a gleam of 
sunshine, nor a glimpse of the blue sky since we 
crossed Mount Cenis. We entered Lyons during 
& small drizzling rain. The dirty streets, th« 



CONCLUSION. 841 

black gloomy-looking house, the smoking manu- 
factories, and busy looks of the people made me 
think of Florence and Genoa, and their " fair white 
walls " and princely domes, with regret ; and when 
in the evening I heard the whining organ which 
some wretched Savoyard was grinding near us, I 
remembered even with emotion the delightful voices 
I heard singing " Di placer mi balza il cor," under 
my balcony at Turin — my last recollection of Italy : 
and to-night, when they opened the window to 
give me air, I felt, on recovering, the cold chill of 
the nigmVbreeze ; and as I shivered and shrunk 
away from it, I remembered the delicious and 
genial softness of our Italian evenings — 

***** 

22. — No letters from England. 

Now that it is past, I may confess, that till now, 
a faint — a very faint hope did cling to my heart. 
I thought it might have been just possible ; but it 
is over now — all is over 1 

We leave Lyons on Tuesday, and travel by short 
easy stages ; and they think I may still reach Paris. 
I will hold up — if possible. 

Yet if they would but lay me down on the road- 
side, and leave me to die in quietness ! to rest is all 
I ask. 

24. — St. Albin. We arrived here yesterday — 
***** 

The few sentences which follow are not legible. 

Four days after the date of the last paragraph, the writer died 
It Autun in her twenty-sixth year, and was buried in the garden 
<t cue Capuchin Monastery, near that city. — Editob. 



